


The Red Sun Never Sets

by Pearlaina



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Cussing, Gen, Rated For Violence, Redstoner AU, major character death but not permanent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlaina/pseuds/Pearlaina
Summary: Mumbo wakes, finding himself stranded in a strange, flat world with a glaring red sun always directly above him. He compulsively builds redstone circuits, barely realizing the deadly traps he's creating. When his friends arrive to bring him home, the acts he commits prove how far gone he is and how long it will take for him to return, fully, from the oppressive world of the red sun.





	1. Chapter 1

_ The red sun never sets… _

 

The air was still and thick with heat when Mumbo jolted awake, his head bouncing against hard ground. He scrambled to his feet, looking around in confusion.  _ Where…? How did…?  _ This wasn’t his bed, back in his room. He’d been lying on a flat, pale surface that proved at a closer inspection to be solid blocks of quartz. It stretched out in all directions, an uninterrupted plane with no end in sight. The heavy heat was suffocating and pressed against him, constricting his breath. There were no landmarks to cast any shadows and no clouds to cover the strange-looking sun. He squinted up at the bright vermilion square that was casting a reddish tint over the white landscape. 

He reached into his pocket to search for a kerchief to wipe his face, but discovered that his pockets held an infinite number of items of every material he could ever want.  _ Oh my word. I’m in creative mode. _ Experimenting, he leapt upwards and found that he could hover in the air without the aid of elytra wings. He immediately rocketed towards the sky limit to look around, but it got hotter and hotter the closer he got to the red sun. He thought, strangely, that the sun might be made of redstone. In any case, he didn’t see any landmark or break in the quartz for miles around. He dropped back down to ground level.

_Wool._ _Fence posts. Chests._ He pulled the items out of his pockets in fluid motions. He built a rudimentary tent, amazed and overjoyed at how quick and easy it was. He didn’t have to clamber around on top of things to reach the highest point and didn’t have to worry about breaking his legs when jumping down. The shade beneath the small tent helped a little, but the air was still thick and hot. He shed his thick black blazer and left it draped over a chest.

He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and pulled a few redstone components from his pockets, filling his inventory with comparators, dust, torches, repeaters; everything he might need for circuitry. It felt like a habit even though he’d never done it before.

_ Survival first. Location later. _

To start, he quickly built a cooling system made from water and ice, but the ice melted and the water evaporated before it could even be turned on. The air grew thick and humid with white steam and he coughed, waving the fog away from his face.  _ Obviously that doesn’t work,  _ he thought, taking down the small circuit and instead just trying a few simpler and familiar models.

When he got tired, he sat in his tent for a bit and wondered exactly how he was supposed to leave a different dimension.  _ I could try a Nether portal… _ he thought, without much enthusiasm.

He pulled obsidian out of his pocket and built the frame, marvelling that it only took one hit to destroy a misplaced block. Without tools, obsidian was the hardest substance and it even took an enchanted pickaxe a while to break it.

He held his breath as he tried to light the portal with flint and steel to activate it and…nothing. It fizzled a bit.

He exhaled, disappointed, not quite ready to face the possibility that he could be stuck in this strange world forever. At least he knew the Nether as a world, and could find the Nether Hub to get back to his base but here…there was nothing. It was extremely daunting.

The redstone in his inventory gave him comfort, however, and he tinkered with some test devices. He noticed he didn’t get hungry as he worked.  _ Must be another side effect of creative mode.  _

He worked until he couldn’t lift his hands any more and stumbled back to his tent, falling to the quartz floor without even building himself a bed. He didn’t think he could die here, so it wasn’t like he needed one.

* * *

“Mumbo?” Grian called, swooping down to land on the glass walkway of Mumbo’s base, closing his elytra wings. No one had seen his friend for a few days and he was frankly quite worried. He crept through Mumbo’s enormous open-air storage system, keeping an eye out for anything strange. It was eerily quiet and he didn’t like how his footsteps echoed hollowly through the huge structure.

Mumbo wasn’t working in any of his smaller buildings surrounding the huge globe, he wasn’t in his old underwater bunker, and he wasn’t staying at someone else’s base. Grian was running out of places to look, and he was running out of firework rockets. 

A lot of the other hermits on the island were getting worried too. They were a small, tight-knit community and it wasn’t often that one of their own went missing for lengthy periods of time. There were certainly many places he could be, but usually when one of them went mining or exploring they brought someone else or at least told someone or left a note. Mumbo had done none of those things. He was just…gone.

The permanent anxiety building in Grian’s chest heightened after he started spending his free time waiting by Mumbo’s bed for him to return in case he died. Dying caused all the hermits to regenerate in their beds without any of their items. Though it was possible that Mumbo had placed a bed somewhere else and regenerated there, the silence in the empty room made Grian fear for his friend.

* * *

Mumbo had been missing for two weeks. Everyone had meticulously searched the island, taken turns watching his bed if he came back, waited. No one could find him.

No one really had ‘jobs’ on the island, but every hermit had individual projects that they worked on and almost all of them had some sort of small store in the Shopping District. None of Mumbo’s projects had been touched and none of his shops had been restocked since they noticed he was missing.

Most hermits thought he’d left or was out exploring somewhere even though they knew Mumbo was never much one for exploring. It’d been so long that many had given up simply because they had other projects they wanted to finish, and they were sure he’d turn up at some point just like every other hermit who’d gone missing for a length of time

The only hermits that were still consistently searching were Mumbo’s closest friends, Iskall and Grian. Some hermits, especially Stress and Ren, dedicated some of their free time to marking off caves that had been fully searched, but no one was as thorough as the Iskall and Grian.

Everyone had theories, of course, and much of Iskall’s and Grian’s time was dedicated to coming up with new ones. 

“What if he’s somewhere in the Nether?” Iskall mused. “Or the End? There’s just so many places he could be, and we have three whole worlds to search…”

Grian was pacing anxiously in the basement of Iskall’s base. “But he’s not! He’s not there. I just know it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “How often is he there normally as it is? And no one goes to the End alone. We need to think outside the box. Let’s go back to his bed. We really should have a permanent watch on it in case he respawns there.”

Iskall groaned. “We’ve been through his base so many times, he’s not going to show up now!”

Grian sighed. “I know, but I don’t have a lot of ideas left.”

They lifted off and headed towards the Futuristic District.


	2. Chapter 2

Mumbo had no way to measure how much time had passed. The clocks he’d pulled out of his pocket didn’t move, and he wasn’t really one for counting ticks on a redstone clock. He’d never been good at estimating lengths of time, but if he had to guess, he would probably say he’d been in this world for about four days. Ish. Maybe. But that was probably different than how much time had passed on the Overworld...argh. Time made his head hurt.

Redstone circuit practice builds stretched out in rings around his little tent, and as far as he could tell all of them were working well and quickly. There wasn’t anything else for him to do; nothing for him to explore, no way to navigate and no way(as far as he could tell) to escape. So he built redstone.

He started a journal of sorts, popping it into an item frame in his little tent. He quickly filled the pages with sketches and doodles of redstone circuits, so he started another and tried to keep it just for writing. He had never been much of a writer, but he wanted a place to write down his thoughts and experiences in this strange place.

Usually when he worked with redstone, he experimented most of the time and only about 40% of things worked on the initial test. But here, somehow everything worked on his first try and he never miscounted blocks or repeater ticks. He was a bit surprised by this, considering how often he normally made mistakes, but it’s not like he minded being right. It just meant he had more time to build more.

He also noticed that what he was building was less impractical things like his usual puzzles and doors, but instead they seemed more like...killing traps. Murder machines. He’d built a few before, but these were a little excessive, and a lot more violent than the ones he was used to.

The building kept him busy, at least, and almost managed to keep his mind off the persistent heat. Soon, the air was filled with the sounds of redstone circuits clicking away, pistons and hoppers and droppers and dispensers in constant rhythms. It was comforting, in a way, but just added to the sensory onslaught that the world produced.

He moved as if in a dream. Hovering around became second nature, as flying with an elytra had been. He often felt like he was outside his body, watching himself build redstone. The heat was still incredibly uncomfortable, and his eyes were in a permanent squint from the reddish light.

The red sun kept shining.

* * *

“What are we looking for this time, Sherlock Grian?” Iskall asked, only half sarcastic.

Grian was running his hands under Mumbo’s bed, pawing through the blankets, and lifting the mattress to look at the frame.“I don’t quite know,” he grunted. “But I don’t think I’ve found it yet.”

Iskall leaned against the wall, staring up at Mumbo’s tree. “Do you ever think about why we go back to our beds when we die?”

“I mean yeah, I guess, who doesn’t? It is a little weird, but it’s certainly helpful to come back completely healed even if you do drop all your stuff.” Most of the hermits simply accepted the regeneration as a fact of life on the island, but those with extra time on their hands couldn’t help but wonder.

Grian suddenly stilled, hands frozen under Mumbo’s mattress. “Iskall…” he said. “What if Mumbo died…but instead of coming back to his base, he went somewhere else?”

Iskall shrugged. “Where else would he go? Do you think he’s got another bed somewhere?”

Grian shook his head. “No, I think he might be in a whole other world. It sounds crazy, but it’s the best idea we’ve got.”

He took off, soaring towards his tower to plan. “Our best idea was that he was on an extra-long branch mining trip somewhere!” Iskall called after him, but Grian ignored him.

* * *

Soon, the novelty of infinite items and flying wore off. Mumbo got used to having as many things as he needed, as many as he wanted. He built faster than he’d ever built before, and it took him awhile to realize that he was working on one giant machine. He no longer color-coded his circuits, but could see them all mapped out in his mind. Mumbo had always liked redstone. The certainty of it, the math, it was all very familiar and comforting to him.

Occasionally he found himself standing in thin air or holding something, staring into space and missing the color blue. Any color, really, other than red.

He no longer felt the heat of the sun, but his breath became a near permanent wheeze. He lost weight even though he didn’t ever get hungry. _Probably just all the physical work,_ he thought, and shrugged it off.

The red sun burned on, always above him, never ceasing. He was grateful to it sometimes, but for what he couldn’t say.

He’d never felt as inspired as he did now. He had all the time possible, all the resources possible, and by God he was going to use them. The itch to use redstone felt like a compulsion, permanent and constant. Whenever he was resting, he counted the seconds until he could return to his work.

He loved the way the dust fell in neat lines, no longer bothering to wipe the residue off his fingers. He reveled it, pleased by the way it marked him.

This world was his and only his. He thought he should keep it that way.


	3. Chapter 3

Grian was thinking about portals. End portals, Nether portals, perhaps other portals that hadn’t been discovered or created yet. He locked himself away in his tower, experimenting and often blowing himself up or setting himself on fire. 

“There’s just so many block combinations,” he moaned to Iskall one day. “How on earth could anyone possibly try  _ all _ of them?”

Iskall sighed. He’d just been by to make sure Grian was okay, but… “I’ll help,” he said, reluctantly. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Grian bounced up, reinvigorated. He dug through a chest, tossing a messy pile of paper towards Iskall. “Here are some of my best ideas,” he said, shoving everything back inside before slamming the lid. Iskall flipped through the disorganized pages. Grian hadn’t even bothered with any logistics or diagrams for most of his designs, and a lot were just concept drawings that looked like they’d been made by a two-year-old. Most of them were ridiculous, involving crazy amounts of TNT and fire. But Iskall had to admit that some, especially the redstone ones, had some promise. They set to work, moving to somewhere more fireproof.

* * *

Mumbo was completely exhausted, always certain he was about to collapse. His body was pushed far past his limit, but he somehow kept finding the energy to continue. He was happy he didn’t have a mirror because he was sure he wouldn’t recognize himself.

The red sun was as ever present as the buzz and click of machinery, the hiss of energy travelling down lines of redstone dust. He breathed the sounds like air and forgot what water felt like, forgot what normal sunlight felt on his skin.

All he knew and all he remembered was the red sun.

* * *

Iskall and Grian had built an enormous cube of redstone blocks and components in the center of the island in a bare patch at the edge of the Shopping District. Most hermits didn’t think the idea would work. Redstone? As a portal? Nevertheless, Iskall had Doc, Tango, and some of the better redstone technicians look at their prototype, and they grudgingly said it might  _ possibly, potentially, just maybe _ work. Now all they needed to do was test it.

* * *

Mumbo didn’t stop to rest anymore. He felt fueled by the red sun, encouraged to keep building, keep going. He ignored all signs of his body shutting down and was numb to anything but the whirring of the redstone concepts through his mind.

It would be his largest, best, and most complex build yet. He had to make sure all the timings were correct and that no one—not a single person—would be able to escape it. This was the world of the red sun. Redstone was better and more efficient than anywhere else, and it needed Mumbo, needed him to use it and protect it. And even kill for it, if necessary.

* * *

The portal light glowed a sickly red, neither warm nor cold. Grian had volunteered to be the first through it as a scout since he was the smallest and the best flier. He was certain Mumbo was through that portal. Where else could he be? Redstone was Mumbo’s  _ thing _ , and they hadn’t figured out any other new portals. This had to be the one.

Iskall planned to wait on the other side to wait for Grian’s return or call for backup. Grian could tell he was tense, but that was nothing compared to new-portal anxiety. He’d double checked that his elytra was durable enough to survive the trip, and brought all manner of tools and supplies that he could carry.

“Good luck,” Iskall said, trying to keep his tone light.

Grian took a deep breath and dove into the square of blazing red light, his stomach twisting violently as the energy pulled him through. As he emerged, he was startled by the sudden stark contrast in surroundings to the island. Heat enveloped him and he gasped at the shock, almost falling out of the sky. He managed to land awkwardly, regaining his footing before checking that the portal was safe and still open.  _ Thank goodness. _

“Mumbo!” Grian called, scanning the strangely flat, pinkish landscape. The dense air dulled his voice.  _ Why’s it so hot? _ he wondered, glancing up at the oddly colored sun. Even the deserts and savannas back on the island didn’t have this same oppressive heat. 

The ground was dotted with tiny builds that Grian assumed were redstone circuits. The largest landmark he could spot was a huge, hulking shape that stuck out of the ground like an abscessed tooth. “Seems like as good a place to start as any,” he murmured to himself. He grabbed his rockets and took off towards it.

He flew over a white, triangular build that didn’t look like redstone, and circled down to check it out.  _ A tent? _ He stepped inside, breaking the wool that blocked the entrance. “Mumbo?” he called again. No answer.

He took out a torch and placed it on the wall even though the red sun provided more than enough light. The tent was sparsely furnished, only two small chests and an item frame containing a book. Mumbo’s jacket was draped over one of the chests.  _ I’m in the right place, at least.  _ Grian pulled the book out of the frame and opened it.  _ 30 pages? _ He began to read.

 

_ Day 4~ _

_ I’ve been in this world place for 4 days, I believe, though it’s hard to tell because the sun never sets. I can’t find a way out. I seem to have everything I could ever want here. Creative mode? _

_ Note: END AND NETHER PORTALS DON’T WORK HERE _

 

The dates didn’t seem to make much sense, but maybe not only was Mumbo not able to count the days, but time actually might pass differently in this world. On the Overworld, Mumbo has been missing for a little more than two weeks. Grian flipped the page.

 

_ Day 5~ _

_ I’ve built a few simple circuits, just as practice to see what works in this world and what doesn’t. So far, everything seems to be functioning well, and the clocks aren’t lagging at all! I’d like to make a fan or some sort of cooling system, but haven’t quite thought out a good idea. _

 

Grian flipped through several similar entries, often with sketches and diagrams that made little sense to him if any.

 

_ Day 14~ _

_ If I weren’t in creative mode, I’d be dead by now. Even though mobs don’t spawn, the energy I expend in the heat would surely destroy my body. I haven’t had to rest as much for some reason. Must keep building. _

 

There was a red smear across the bottom of the page and Grian couldn’t tell if it was redstone or blood.

 

_ Day 18~ _

_ The heat is insufferable. I dug down to bedrock today just to see if I could escape it. Four blocks! Only four blocks to bedrock! I could still feel the burning like a second skin. Beneath it was only the Void, and I haven’t become that desperate yet. _

 

Grian flipped past entries 19~ -- 26~ to the last page. It wasn’t dated.

 

_ I’ve been building for the past...I don’t know how long. Redstone circuits. Lots of them. Some sort of enormous machine. I don’t know what it’s for quite yet. I’m so tired. I hope _ ―

 

There were a few words scratched out, and beneath it was written  _ WHEN THEY COME, I’LL BE READY _ . Mumbo’s usually neat handwriting had devolved through the entire book to a heavy-handed scrawl.

That was the last entry. Grian flipped through the last few empty pages, all stained with reddish fingerprints. Was Mumbo in danger? Were there monsters in this world? Other people? He wasn’t sure. He did know, however, that whatever was scary enough to scare Mumbo would certainly kill him in an instant. He took off back towards the portal as fast as his elytra wings could carry him, bringing the book along.

* * *

Iskall was absolutely livid that Grian had left without finding Mumbo. “You didn’t even see him? You didn’t make sure he was safe first?”

Grian winced, clutching Mumbo’s diary to his chest. “I know he’s there, and he’s in creative mode so I’m sure he’s fine! But whatever’s scaring him is going to be stronger than I can handle alone. I’m going to go ask the other hermits—”

“There might be no time!” Iskall shouted, firing a rocket and opening his elytra wings. “Hurry up, at least!” He dove into the portal, reddish energy engulfing him. Grian took off, taking one last look at Iskall’s wavering form before soaring off to gather all the other hermits he could find.


	4. Chapter 4

Mumbo sat curled up in one of his ‘control rooms,’ tens of buttons and levers within his reach. The gentle buzz of redstone machinery calmed his nerves...but did it? It was constant, incessant, like the heat, the light, the burning…He pressed his hands to his ears and tucked his head to his chest, shaking. His breath was quick and he sucked in the air like he was dying, even though it was thick with heat.

Suddenly, he thought he heard a rocket fire. He shot to his feet, pressing his back against the wall, quickly reviewing all the circuits in the machine.

“Mumbo!” came a distant call. Mumbo didn’t answer, muscles taut as a spring. Someone was here and he wanted them gone.  _ Now _ .

“Mumbo! Are you in there, buddy?” Mumbo twisted his head about, trying to gauge where the voice was coming from. He crept towards the northeast panel, hands resting on buttons.

A crash followed by a scream. Another rocket firing. Mumbo twitched.

The voice moved closer to him, still calling and getting more desperate. “Mumbo! Mumbo, stop! You’re safe! It’s me, Iskall! I can take you back!”

Mumbo didn’t react, couldn’t process what had just been said to him. The name meant nothing to him. All he heard was noise, all he felt was heat.

Mumbo heard Iskall land.  _ There. _ He slammed his hand on a button and threw a lever. Pistons clanked and Iskall screamed again. He was much closer than Mumbo had thought, but thankfully he’d still been caught in the trap.

He heard the desperate beat of Iskall’s pick against the walls of the prison Mumbo had created, but Mumbo knew he wouldn’t break through in time. He laughed softly.

He threw another lever and the two pistons smashed together. There was a deafening  _ crunch _ , a few short gasps, and then silence.

Mumbo reset the levers and crawled through a small tunnel to inspect the results. He reset one of the redstone lines that had been disrupted before noticing something strange about the activated trap.

There was a body.

When someone died, their body disappeared so they could regenerate, but Iskall hadn’t for some reason. Mumbo was curious, but shrugged and returned to his task. After everything was rearmed, he picked up Iskall’s crumpled remains, inspecting the damage. The corpse was strangely light. He flew out of the machine and unceremoniously dropped the body on the ground, leaving it to...maybe rot, he wasn’t sure. As he flew back into the machine, smiling dazedly, he didn’t notice the hot tears streaking down his cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

Mumbo knew that next time--he was certain they’d come--there would be more of them. He worked doggedly on the machine, adding and subtracting and modifying ceaselessly. Iskall’s body hadn’t disappeared and lay broken and unmoving on the quartz. His blood was still wet on Mumbo’s shirt. The cloth clung to Mumbo’s skin, sticky and stained so much by sweat, redstone, and blood that it wasn’t anywhere close to its original white.

He wasn’t sure when they’d come, so he didn’t rest. His eyes blurred from the heat and bright light bouncing off the metal of the machine. His fingers were coated in a permanent crust of redstone dust that crunched whenever he flexed his hands.

 _Swoosh._ A rocket. He dove into one of the gaps in the machine’s circuitry, hovering up and down and around components to make it to the closest safe room. More rockets fired, and he heard more voices. Lots of them. _Damn._

“Mumbo! Mumbo, where are you?” “Dang, did he make all of this?” “I don’t see him anywhere…” “Mumbooooo!”

Half remembered names brushed against Mumbo’s psyche but they were blown back by glaring red light. He stared into the middle distance, the sounds of his redstone machine washing over him. _There._ The trap that had killed Iskall. _There._ The trap that would drown them. _There._ Traps that would asphyxiate, crush, burn, explode, drop them from enormous heights onto the hard ground. Lava. TNT. Comparators, repeaters, lamps, hoppers, dispensers. He felt all of it like it was his own body.

He felt when they began to break into it.

He slammed his foot down onto a button, listening for the telltale click of a pressure plate. A scream, disappearing into the distance. Not fatal if they could get their elytra open in time.

Pistons began to shift a shield into place around the machine’s components. “Stop, Mumbo!” they called. “You’re safe! It’s us!” He felt nothing.

He flew to another pocket in the machine to observe. More screams.

He heard a rocket straight above him and ducked as someone dove down through a space in the machine above him.

“Mumbo!” Grian cried, face splitting into a relieved grin. “You’re okay! Wait, is that _blood_ on your shirt?”

Mumbo stared through him, unable to focus his wavering vision on the blurred form in front of him.

“Mumbo?” Grian slowly crept forward. “How…how long have you been here?”

Mumbo’s eyes tracked across the room. “The…red…sun…never…sets,” he choked out hoarsely, the first words he’d spoken in days.

Grian stepped closer to Mumbo. “Mumbo…we made a portal. We can bring you home. You…you need some rest.” He reached towards Mumbo’s arm but Mumbo recoiled, turning away from Grian. He pulled a stack of obsidian from his pocket and quickly placed a wall of it between him and Grian, blocking Grian’s pursuit, before rising out of the pocket. Grian called after him, mining desperately at the obsidian. Mumbo waited, hovering just out of elytra reach as Grian made it through the wall and threw himself into the air after him.

Mumbo rose and dipped effortlessly through the machine, smoother than any elytra glider. Grian chased after him, calling his name. _What an ungainly method of flight,_ Mumbo thought dreamily as Grian fired rocket after rocket to keep up. Grian was a good flier with an elytra, certainly, but this was Mumbo’s world and Mumbo didn’t have to deal with rockets or wing troubles. Mumbo led Grian deeper and deeper into the machine, preparing every move before he made it. Grian managed to stay at least five blocks behind him the entire time.

Mumbo dove down, pulling around at the last second and watching as Grian, trying to follow, slammed headfirst into an iron and glass box. He crumpled, elytra folding like paper. Grian lifted his head and blood trickled from beneath his helmet.

“Mumbo...please…” he whimpered, struggling to hold himself upright.

Mumbo looked at Grian through the glass but didn’t see him, only saw an invader in his world. Where there would be pain, fury, regret, or fear there was only emptiness.

He pulled the lever to his left. The redstone activated.

He fell to his knees in exhaustion as the dispenser right above Grian activated, filling the box with lava. Grian screamed as the lava lit his clothes on fire and the other hermits called his name, calling ‘Iskall is dead, where are you,’ but Grian couldn’t answer. The screams were awful, now garbled and dulled by the hiss of the lava. Mumbo smiled lazily but tears were pouring down his face. The screams stopped. When Mumbo pulled the lever back and water flowed into the box, cooling the lava, only cobblestone and ash remained.

Mumbo knelt there for a long time, disconnected from everyone and everything, too exhausted to even continue his quest of destruction. He didn’t move until the hermits found him there, excavating him from his tomb of redstone and iron. Only when they pulled him to his feet was he slammed back into his body. He stumbled, shoving at the hands pulling him up.

“Get…get away!” he gasped, arms up to ward them off. His dark eyes darted around wildly. So many people, so much armor, so many weapons. Tango. Scar. False. Doc. Everyone was there. He knew them. He didn’t.

He turned away from them and crouched down, wrapping his arms around his head, shaking. “The…the red sun!” he screamed. “The red sun never sets!”

The heat bore down on him anew and red light exploded behind his eyelids. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed and screamed.

A rocket fired, but Mumbo didn’t hear. Doc had gone and disrupted every redstone line he could find and removed as many power sources as possible, breaking things at random. Mumbo didn’t know, couldn’t tell, didn’t care. He was blazing, burning, burning like Grian, asphyxiating like Iskall. His breath came in short gasps. His skin felt constricting and he clawed at his clothing and at himself, leaving ugly red lines across his arms and face.

Cleo and Tango grabbed him, held him fast as he bit and scratched fruitlessly at their armor as they flew him up and out of the machine. Closer to the sun. Mumbo’s screams began anew, and he forgot about creative mode, about all the tools in his pockets, could only see the enormous red eye of the sun that grew closer and closer as they flew.

They effortlessly carried him across the landscape, followed by everyone else. Xisuma brought up the rear with Iskall’s body, three pieces of cobblestone, and a pocketful of ash.

They dove through the portal, rapidly digging a deep hole in the dirt and dumping Mumbo inside before making sure everyone was accounted for. There were many glances towards X who was gently laying Iskall’s body on the ground. When asked about Grian, he could only shake his head. After triple-checking that they’d all made it back, they closed the portal, hopefully for good, and destroyed the pieces of it.

Iskall’s body sizzled and faded in a flash of red light, leaving his gear and items behind where X had placed him. Stress grabbed his stuff and stuck them in a shulker box, just in case.

Mumbo hadn’t moved from where they’d dropped him. He shivered uncontrollably but was utterly silent.

The redstone caked on his hands burned his skin a little as though it still held the vestiges of the red sun’s heat.

He couldn’t feel anything else.

Doc and Ren left to go see if Iskall had come back. Everyone else was quiet, occasionally wondering aloud what they were going to do with Mumbo. A few wanted him dead, permanently. Some wanted to keep him somewhere safe, looked after, to see if he’d get better. Some just wanted him abandoned far, far away from the island with no gear. X carefully funneled ash into a bottle while they discussed. No one asked him what it was.

Doc and Ren returned with Iskall in tow. He landed unsteadily, pale and stumbling. Before anyone could speak, Doc explained that Iskall had returned confused and mute, probably due to the strange manner of death. Regeneration and healing potions hadn’t worked to bring his voice back.

Iskall mouthed, _Where’s Mumbo and Grian?_

Xisuma laid a hand on his shoulder and quietly explained what happened to Grian and indicated the hole. Iskall bent his head in sorrow.

He crept over to look into the hole at the man who’d killed him and one of his closest friends.

Mumbo looked small and wretched. He was curled in a corner with his head tucked into his chest, trembling. His arms were covered in scratches and his eyes were half closed. His tie and blazer were nowhere to be found and his hair and signature moustache were unkempt.

Iskall jumped down into the hole with no hesitation, much to the shock of the other hermits. They rushed to the edge to see Iskall gently gathering Mumbo up in his arms.

 _Will someone help me build a place for him?_ he mouthed to Doc, who translated for the benefit of everyone else.

Doc, Scar, Stress, Ren, and False followed Iskall to his base and built an enormous cube of obsidian high above the entrance. They furnished the single, small room lovingly with a bed and a chest with some food, but no crafting table and definitely no redstone. Iskall set Mumbo down on the bed, holding his shoulders to look him in the eyes.

Mumbo lolled, slumping over, his body pushed far past its limits.

“Iskall, we’ll set up an alarm system to a tower that’ll tell us when you need us.” Doc said, and Scar offered to help. Iskall nodded his thanks. They left together and False followed, quiet as the door closed behind her. Stress and Ren wanted to stay, but Iskall thought that the less people crowding the room the better, and he shooed them out.

Left alone with Mumbo, Iskall made sure he wasn’t carrying anything important and propped Mumbo against the bed frame. He took out a bucket of water and began to wash his friend’s hands, gently wiping off the redstone and blood. Iskall even carefully scraped the redstone out from underneath Mumbo’s fingernails. The dust sizzled in the water, floating to the top to make a clumpy film.

Iskall left some food next to Mumbo on the bed and quietly closed the door behind him.

Mumbo slumped slowly against the wall, body trembling all over, and all he could feel was cold, cold, cold.

“The red sun never sets,” he murmured, words nearly incomprehensible. “The red sun never sets. The red sun never sets.”

His vision was dulled, used to glaring red light, and his eyes couldn’t focus on anything. His mind still swam with redstone.


	6. Chapter 6

A few days later, Iskall returned with a very badly burned Grian. His skin was ashen and marred with deep, angry burn scars. He was missing his right arm up to his elbow and his left up to his shoulder. He leaned heavily on Iskall for support, looking very small.

“Mumbo,” he rasped. Mumbo didn’t look up from where he was lying. “I’m glad you’re okay.

“I’m going to live with Iskall for a while. Neither of us know if we’ll come back if we die again, so we think it’s safer this way. And he could use a hand—” He laughed slightly. “He could use a hand taking care of you.”

Mumbo twitched, his eyes travelling from the floor up to Grian’s face. He blinked slowly.

“Grian?” he whispered, voice shaking and almost silent. “Why is it s-so cold?”

Grian laughed and Iskall suppressed a grin, a flash of old humor returning to both of them. Mumbo stared at them blankly.

He struggled to sit up, dark curls falling over his eyes. When had his hair grown so long?

Grian watched before leaning against the wall and motioning for Iskall to close the door. They had a heated silent debate before Iskall relented and left, motioning for Grian to call if he needed him.

Mumbo stared at his ragged shoes.

“You know, I don’t really think that was wholly you in that world.” Mumbo looked up, making eye contact for a second before darting his eyes away and back to the floor.

Grian leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I would do the same as you if I was there, but that could be because my redstone skills are subpar to say the least.” He chuckled softly. “Living there...in that environment, for over a month, that has to do something to someone. And I have a feeling that the weird sun there had something to do with it.”

Mumbo twitched, a red haze obscuring his vision and shooting energy through his fatigued body. He surged upwards, striking Grian across the face. Grian fell, his head bouncing off the obsidian wall. He looked up at Mumbo with fear in his eyes and blood trickling from his mouth.

“Where is it?” Mumbo hissed. “How do I find it?”

Grian squinted at him, trying to push himself up. Mumbo grabbed his shirt and lifted him to his knees. “Where’s the portal to the red sun?”

Grian shook his head, spitting blood onto the floor. “It’s destroyed,” he coughed out, wheezing.

Mumbo threw him to the ground and Grian scrambled towards the door. “Tell me how to make it!” Mumbo shouted as Grian desperately called for Iskall. “Tell me how to get back!” He rushed towards the door as Iskall opened it, pulling Grian out. It slammed, nearly on Grian’s foot, and Mumbo ran right into it. He screamed, beating at the door, begging them to tell him, to let him out, to take him back to the redstone world. He fell to the ground in exhaustion, sobbing. _The red sun never sets. The red sun never sets._

* * *

Mumbo was left alone for a very long time after that. Eventually he was able to drag himself back onto his bed, curling himself around his bruised hands. His whole body ached. His lungs still burned because the air felt freezing cold to him.

He spent most of the time asleep because being awake was too painful.

When he wasn’t asleep, most of his waking hours were passed in a raging panic, longing to be back working under the redstone sun. The rest of the time he was in a silent daze, staring at the ceiling or the wall.

In the tween times between sleep and consciousness he saw Grian burning to death, watched himself knock Grian to the ground, watched Iskall be crushed between pistons he’d placed with his own hands. His eyes were constantly gritty with dried tears that he didn’t remember shedding.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed before Iskall and Grian came back.

“Hey, Mumbo,” Grian said softly through the door. “I hope you’re doing alright.”

Mumbo didn’t turn to look at him.

“Iskall’s telling me to ask you if you’re going to hurt him.” There was a small scuffle. “Iskall’s yelling at me for saying that.” Another scuffling noise, and Grian was laughing.

Mumbo turned slightly to look at the door. Grian’s smiling face appeared in the little window and he was using his stump to shield himself from Iskall’s annoyed, playful punches.

There was a crack in the red wall of light in Mumbo’s mind that remained long after the two of them had left.


	7. Chapter 7

Mumbo was learning to remember. He remembered Grian, remembered Iskall, remembered everything up until how he ended up in the redstone world. He remembered waking up there, and everything that happened after.

The redstone sun called to him across worlds, begging him to return, but Mumbo was trying to fight its constant presence in his mind. He was instead trying to focus on doing things like moving. The sun was easier to ignore this far away, but its pull was consuming and relentless.

He confined his mind to the obsidian box, just as the hermits had confined him to it.

Iskall came in one day, dressed in fully enchanted diamond armor. Mumbo watched him from the bed, not moving as Iskall gingerly collected the untouched food from the foot of Mumbo’s bed and stored it away in the chest, along with some newer food. He held up a hand, waving and smiling slightly at Mumbo, who just stared blankly back at him.

Iskall looked disappointed, and Mumbo couldn’t quite figure out why.

* * *

Later, probably in the same day from what Mumbo could guess, Grian came in also dressed in armor. His face was swollen where Mumbo had hit him. He leaned against the wall again, face ashen. Iskall stayed right outside the door.

“Hey,” he said tiredly. “Mumbo, I don’t know what happened to you...there. In that world. But we’re still friends, alright? This isn’t you right now. I’m speaking to the tiny Mumbo that’s still in there somewhere. The one that didn’t hit or kill me.”

Mumbo flinched, surprising himself.

“I miss you, man. The island isn’t the same without you.”

Grian pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against, maneuvering himself to open the food chest with his foot. “Have you been eating at all?”

Mumbo blinked at him. Did it matter if he’d been eating?

“Iskall, can you get in here and hand him something?” he called through the door. Iskall entered and scribbled something in a book before showing it to Grian, who sighed, exasperated. “Please, just do it anyway.”

Iskall rolled his eyes and rooted around in the chest, pulling out a piece of bread. He placed it on the floor next to Mumbo’s bed. Mumbo didn’t move.

Grian groaned. “Oh for goodness’ sake. Mumbo, sit up.” He motioned with his stump. Mumbo stared at him. “Please, Mumbo? It’s not good for you to be starving like this. Even if all you want is to go back...there…” He paused, wary, but Mumbo didn’t react. “...you’re going to need to eat.”

Mumbo relented and slowly pushed himself into an upright position, leaning against the headboard. “Now, Iskall, hand him the bread,” Grian commanded. Iskall scribbled in his book and showed it to Grian.

“Well, I’d do it myself, but as you can see...I can’t.” Grian wiggled the remnant of his arm. “Please, Iskall?”

Iskall huffed, but gingerly picked his way over to Mumbo, who just stared at the ground. Iskall gently pushed the food into his hands, backing away slowly.

Mumbo stared at the bread and picked at it, placing a tiny crumb to his lips. He didn’t _feel_ hungry, but both sides of him told him he’d need energy. Of course, one said he’d need energy to stand up and walk and be okay again, and the other said he’d need energy to escape, but at least they were mostly in agreement.

“I’ll see if we can get you a new jacket, too. You look...wrong without it,” Grian said.

Mumbo gave a very slight nod, so slight he wasn’t sure if Grian had seen it.

Grian nodded pertly, satisfied. “Well, see you later, Mumbo,” he chirped as though this was a normal social interaction. Mumbo continued eating the bread mechanically, placing tiny crumbs in his mouth one by one. Iskall and Grian were long gone by the time he finally finished.

* * *

Iskall came back a while later. He had his book clutched in one hand and a black blazer in the other. He draped the jacket gently on the bed next to Mumbo and scribbled in the book for a minute. He held it in Mumbo’s field of vision.

 

_I have a book to help me talk! Sorry if the jacket isn’t the same as your old one. This is the best we could do. Get better soon, buddy._

 

Mumbo nodded slightly and gently brushed the edge of the jacket with his finger. He didn’t look Iskall in the eyes.

The door closed.

Mumbo was alone again.


	8. Chapter 8

Mumbo was learning about loneliness. It was one thing to be lonely and still have friends you know loved and trusted you, but it was another to be lonely and not even know if you could trust yourself. He hated himself for still feeling the sun’s influence and was constantly doubting whether or not the thoughts of killing and plotting were his or not.

There wasn’t much to do in the box. He considered trying to escape sometimes, punching out the obsidian by hand and covering the hole with carpeting when Iskall and Grian visited, because they surely wouldn’t just have one layer of obsidian between him and the rest of the world. But most of him didn’t trust _himself_ with the world, so full of redstone and people he could hurt. So he didn’t, and instead he just lay in bed, thinking.

Iskall had given him a book and pen in case he wanted to journal or sketch, but every time Mumbo picked it up he was afraid he’d start drawing out redstone circuits, so it lay forgotten in his storage chest. He knew both Grian and Iskall worried about not occupying his time enough to distract him from the sun, but neither of them had come up with anything that didn’t involve some risk.

Mumbo missed crafting. He missed building and designing things. He missed puzzling over redstone farms and automatic doors and collection systems. Was all of that tainted now? Were some of the most important things in his life lost to him forever?

He did his best to occupy his time with whatever he could, which wasn’t much. He was lying down again, his head on his new jacket. The sun’s pull was weak today, so he had more time to do nothing instead of freak out. His hair was so long it fell into his eyes constantly, and only about half the time did he actually have the motivation to move it. He brushed it out of his face and stared at the wall. Someone had put a flower in an item frame next to the door in a sad attempt at decorating and he wondered why they’d even tried. He ran his fingers over his moustache, trying to smooth it back into shape. It was not cooperating.

He felt like he hadn’t walked in ages.

His legs were cramped when he tried to move them, joints protesting as he straightened his legs out for the first time in ages. He stretched them out on the bed, hip muscles trembling with the effort. His toes just barely reached over the edge of the mattress.

He sat up slowly, bracing his arm against the bed and wondering how hard it would be to stand up. The obsidian was cold next to his hand as he pushed down on the headboard, lifting himself up onto unstable legs. The door opened suddenly, startling Mumbo so badly that lost his concentration and fell to his knees. It was Grian. Instantly he was by Mumbo’s side, his right shoulder tucked under Mumbo’s left, gently supporting his bodyweight.

“Take it slow, Mumbo.” Grian murmured, shifting his own weight to stabilize Mumbo.

Mumbo stared at the ground, but pushed himself to his feet again, letting himself lean against Grian. His legs shook with the effort and his bruises and scratches stung.

Grian was patient, using his leg to brace Mumbo’s. Mumbo kept his eyes on the ground as he finally managed to stand on both feet. He took a wobbly step, nearly falling as his legs tried to give out. Grian caught him. “Easy,” he murmured in Mumbo’s ear. “Easy, easy.”

Grian then almost stumbled himself, gasping, but Mumbo pressed his trembling palm against the obsidian wall, steadying them both. They took a small step, together. And another. And another.

They worked their way around the room in a small circle before Mumbo collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. Grian patted Mumbo on the back with his stump, smiling. “You did well, Mumbo.”

Mumbo didn’t acknowledge the praise, only gasped heavily, sucking in the wonderfully cool air.

Grian turned to leave but Mumbo turned towards him suddenly. “...Grian?” he whispered hoarsely. “Thank you.” They were the first words he’d spoken to Grian since that first day.

Grian smiled and left.

* * *

The next time Iskall was back to bring Mumbo food, he brought a mirror with him. _I just thought you might want to see yourself,_ he wrote by way of an explanation.

Mumbo took the square of glass in his hands and saw a stranger staring back at him.

He bore no resemblance to the dapper, moustachioed man who had taken care to wear a clean suit nearly every day, wore pristine white button down shirts, and took immense pride in his appearance.

The stranger in the mirror blinked when he did. His dark eyes were sunken and tired-looking, like the eyes of a much older man. His cheekbones stood out sharply, making his pale face look skeletal. His moustache was a mess, and his hair was a greasy mass of unruly, black curls. He looked, to put it simply, awful.

Mumbo thought he’d feel some form of shame or embarrassment or _something,_ but he felt nothing. His reflection looked the same way he felt about himself, so he didn’t care.

Tears began to leak from Mumbo’s eyes and he closed them, trying to shut out the image of his reflection. He handed the glass back to Iskall and lay back down without a word. Iskall laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, book forgotten in his hand.

Iskall suddenly snapped his fingers to get Mumbo’s attention and motioned for him to sit up again. Mumbo did, slowly, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Iskall looked him up and down with a critical eye, and then gently reached out to wipe Mumbo’s tears away. Mumbo flinched away, but allowed the soft touch of Iskall’s sleeve on his cheek. Iskall then gently ran his fingers through Mumbo’s hair, combing it back and out of his face. Mumbo didn’t move.

Iskall stood back and surveyed Mumbo again before taking Mumbo’s jacket off the bedpost and handing it to him, motioning for him to put it on. Mumbo obeyed, meekly.

Iskall took up his book again and scribbled something quickly before showing Mumbo.

_Handsome._

Mumbo gave him a small smile, mouthing _thank you._ Iskall nodded to him, smiling gently, and left.

Mumbo sat like that for a long time, occasionally straightening his jacket minutely or buttoning a loose button on his shirt. He felt more like himself than he had in ages.

* * *

Other hermits came to visit Mumbo in the early days of his internment. Most didn’t even enter the room, only looked at him through the door. It unsettled him, but he knew he deserved the distrust, especially after his outburst at Grian.

Both Grian and Iskall helped him walk now, sometimes together. Iskall supported Grian, Grian supported Mumbo, and Mumbo tried not to make everyone fall. Once they were all walking together but it was a hard day for Grian and a worse one for Mumbo, so they ended up collapsing in a heap, pulling Iskall down with them. Grian was the first to laugh, and Iskall joined him, silently. Mumbo just lay on the floor, friends on either side of him, and breathed.


	9. Chapter 9

He was back in the redstone world. How? _No._ Why? Building...a machine. Again. Larger and more intricate than the first. Powered by automatic redstone clocks, nearly fully automatic. He could hear screams above the hiss and clack of machinery, screams he knew, screams he recognized. His hands were absolutely caked in redstone dust, like crimson gloves. The heat was as constricting as ever. The redstone seemed to expand, turning into the red sun, growing, engulfing, pressing, until his entire vision was consumed by blazing red light. It burned his body and he screamed, trying to escape, thrashing—

He shot up, gasping, back in the small obsidian box. He slipped off his bed and tucked his knees into his chest, trying to stop shaking. He was here, not there. The red sun was gone.

_But the red sun never sets…_

The door opened and Mumbo shot to his feet, falling backwards back onto the bed as his legs buckled beneath him. “Stay—stay back!” he cried, arm up to ward away a startled Iskall. Iskall dropped his book and took a step backwards, but didn’t leave. Mumbo tucked himself as close to the wall as he could.

“I’m—I’m too dangerous. Leave. Please. Just go,” he said, voice cracking.

Iskall slowly bent to pick up his book, opened it and began scribbling, snapping his fingers at Mumbo until he pulled his head out of his arms to look. _There’s no redstone here, and as far as I know you don’t have any weapons. If it’ll make you feel better I can put on armor…?_

Mumbo nodded, waiting as Iskall quickly donned a diamond set. “Can...can you have a sword out, too? Just in case?”

Iskall shook his head. _I couldn’t._

Mumbo flinched.

 _I came to ask you if you’d like to visit your old base, but maybe you’re not ready,_ Iskall wrote. Mumbo’s eyes went wide and he shook his head.

“No. No. The redstone... You...we...you’re all safer if I stay.”

Iskall nodded, disappointed. _If you change your mind, we can do it at a later date. Grian was thinking about having False or Biffa or some other better fighters decked out in armor and everything, just in case._ He made a face and shook his head. _I hate that idea._

Mumbo considered. He really did miss his enormous glass sphere of a storage system, and his little garden house was probably abandoned.

“Not today,” he murmured.

Iskall nodded in understanding and left. Mumbo lay back down, still shivery, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t tell how long it was before he fell asleep.

* * *

Grian popped in later with a huge grin on his face, not able to contain his excitement. “Mumbo, you’ve got to be bored as hell in here. So Iskall had this great idea―honestly it’s the best―all the hermits are going to write you letters and such. So you can read instead of sitting there like a lump.” He beamed proudly, waiting for Mumbo’s response.

Mumbo blearily blinked at his friend, still half asleep. “...Letters?”

“Yeah, Mumbo, some people miss you and still want to talk to you. We’ll filter out the more technical ones, but you have more skill than just redstone. And, you know, friends.”

Mumbo furrowed his brow. “I don’t know…”

Grian attempted to cross his arms, but failed miserably. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t.”

Mumbo sighed. “I...don’t want to have to reply.” He envisioned letters filled with crazed rambling being sent out to everyone, proving why he should stay locked up in this box.

Grian rolled his eyes. “Fine. You don’t have to reply to them. We’re doing it.”

From the determined look in Grian’s eyes, Mumbo knew there was no use arguing with him.

* * *

Mumbo was unsure how much time had passed before he heard the sound of mining on the outside of his little box. Iskall threw a slip of paper through one of the small windows on the door, and continued mining. Mumbo picked it up warily.

_Heyyyy Mumbo! We’re making you a mailbox. Nothing serious, don’t worry. No redstone, just a hopper or two, and a chest. We’ll deliver everything manually, but we just thought you should know! -Iskall and Grian_

Mumbo carefully folded the note and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Pockets! His old jacket hadn’t had pockets and he had to keep everything in his pants pockets. This new jacket didn’t fit as well as his last one, but he didn’t particularly care. His old one probably wouldn’t fit anymore anyway, considering how much weight he’d lost.

The mining didn’t last too long, and Mumbo made an effort not to count how many blocks were broken. There was some muttering on the other side and it sounded like Grian was in a heated argument with Iskall. Mumbo was only able to catch a few words of it. “I know…some…he…handle it! Haven’t you…progress?”

Mumbo sighed, and not for the first time wondered whether or not he was worth all this effort.

 _It’d be better if I was gone,_ he caught himself thinking.

Well, that wasn’t good. Wasn’t being suicidal just another form of crazy?

Mumbo groaned and flopped back onto his bed, frustrated. If only he was safe enough to leave, if only he had fought the influence of the red sun, if only he hadn’t built that damned machine, if only if only if only.


	10. Chapter 10

Grian was talking to Mumbo about the news on the island. Well, more like talking _at_ him because Mumbo was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, not engaging at all.

“Grian?” Mumbo said softly, interrupting Grian’s tirade about a new shop that was encroaching on his space. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to leave this box.”

Grian scoffed. “Sure you will. Why wouldn’t y--”

“Grian,” Mumbo said to the ceiling, interrupting him again. “I still dream about the sun. In...in the other world.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I dream about hurting you. Killing all of you.”

Grian shifted, but didn’t say anything. Mumbo turned his head to face him, but the other man’s expression was unreadable.

“I don’t feel like I’m getting better or getting worse,” Mumbo said, turning back to look at the ceiling. “I just feel like I’m...stagnant. Moving sideways if at all. I can’t tell if the influence of the sun reaches across worlds or if this...if this is really me now.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“Mumbo—”

“Don’t say anything about this not being me just because I haven’t been like this in the past or whatever! You don’t know what it’s like, trying to sort out a before and after of my own thoughts. Wondering if it’s me thinking those things or whatever remains of that world. But what if _all_ of it’s me?”

He was facing the wall now, nearly shouting in frustration. Hot tears pricked at his eyes. “If I’m going to live in fear of hurting other people around me for the rest of forever, then I don’t want to li—”

“Mumbo Jumbo, don’t you dare finish that sentence—!” Grian shouted. Mumbo jumped, startled and sat up. Grian took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I can’t make you stop thinking this. I can’t save you from the red sun or yourself or whatever. But I swear, I will not let you hurt yourself. If staying in this box will help you not do that, then we’ll do that. If moving out will help, we’ll do that. But this isn’t _for_ me, Mumbo. This isn’t about anyone else. You deserve as much happiness as anyone else on this damned island and you deserve to be comfortable with yourself being alive, goddamn it!” Grian was pacing, frustrated. Mumbo had his knees tucked up to his chest and was watching Grian with wide eyes.

“I—I’m sorry—”

Grian stopped dead in his tracks. “No, jeez, I’m sorry, Mumbo. I want to help you. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel like this, I just—” He sighed and attempted to the motion of running a hand through his hair. “I just wish you didn’t. And I know—I know you can’t just…stop feeling like that, and I don’t expect you to. Please, just...talk to me.”

“I was trying to, before you interrupted with an entire monologue,” Mumbo said, surprising himself.

“Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?” Grian giggled before trying to twist his face back into a scowl. “Wait, no, don’t joke about that! Damn it, Mumbo!”

Mumbo chuckled, hiding a small smile behind his hands. “I—We’ll see where we go from here.”

Grian sat down next to Mumbo on his bed and leaned against him in an approximation of a hug. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”


	11. Chapter 11

It had only been a couple days since Iskall had offered the excursion to his base, but Mumbo was aching to get out of his box. He was still terrified of hurting people, but the air was stale and he was sick of staring at the slick black ceiling and the rough carpet. The sun’s pull had lessened enough that he was almost certain that the pull to freedom was his own.

Iskall was thrilled at his decision, to say the least.

Mumbo put his jacket on and smoothed out his shirt as best as he could. It made him feel a bit more like himself. He wished he had a mirror or something to cut his hair with or even just a clean shirt, but this would have to do.

False and Biffa arrived in full battle regalia, armor heavily enchanted and obviously incredibly expensive. Mumbo felt very, very small next to them. Iskall wouldn’t have let them come, but they insisted and Mumbo thought it was probably for the best.

Iskall lent him an elytra and a stack of fireworks for the flight over to the Futuristic District. Grian wouldn’t be able to join them because he hadn’t figured out a way to rig rockets to fire yet when he was trying to fly.

Mumbo put on the elytra slowly, struggling a bit with the glider’s harness. It had been so long since he’d last worn wings…

They blindfolded him for the trip out of the box. Iskall helped lead him out the door and through what felt like a very long, twisted hallway. Mumbo lost count of the times he tripped on his own feet. Iskall tapped his hand every time he did as though to say _sorry._ They stopped, and the two ‘bodyguards’ and Iskall had a tense, quiet argument. Mumbo felt awkward, but there wasn’t really much he could do. The blindfold was removed, and Mumbo blinked. Iskall snapped his fingers to get Mumbo’s attention and held his book up to Mumbo’s face.

_Go up._

Mumbo looked straight up and saw a long chimney of obsidian going straight up. He fumbled with his rockets while False overtook him and went up first. He eventually got everything situated, took a deep breath, read Iskall’s scrawled _Good luck!!_ and took off.

The wind. The wind in his ears as he shot upwards was blissful. It took him two rockets to get all the way to the top, and he landed awkwardly next to False, stumbling and out of breath.

“You alright?” she asked, reaching out a hand as though to steady him but seeming to think better of it.

Mumbo nodded to her, distracted by the sight of the sky. The horizon. The land stretching out in all directions. The wind buffeted him, ripping through his hair, opening his elytra wings and nearly blowing him off the top of the cube, which would be a very far distance to fall. His eyes were watering, either from the wind or from...all of it. He was in absolute awe. The last time he’d seen the sky, he’d been too far gone to appreciate it.

He’d never felt so free, even with two heavily armed guards poised to kill him at any moment.

Iskall placed a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder, holding out his book. _You ready?_ Mumbo nodded and they took off together. Biffa and False followed close behind.

False had her bow and Biffa had a trident out for the entire flight, but Mumbo barely noticed their presence save for the occasional rocket firing. So much had changed on the island since he’d been gone. The shopping district was as crowded as ever, and still managed to have a few new shops scattered about. Grian’s tower base was huge and magnificent, and it even looked like he’d gained a beacon or two since Mumbo’d been gone.

Mumbo’s base wasn’t so much of a base as it was an enormous storage system surrounded by buildings housing automatic resource farms and a small bedroom of sorts. He wondered how they were going to keep him away from redstone when his entire area was based on circuitry and mechanics.

It hadn’t changed a bit since he’d been there.  His glass sphere and the smaller, spherical, mustachioed Bolloni sculpture were both intact. The cactus farm looked like it was still functioning, the cacti cubes collecting in the water where the chest had been overly full for too long.

The four of them landed in Mumbo’s mini forest biome. Mumbo’s eyes burned from the wind and for a couple seconds after landing and stumbling across the ground, he leaned against a tree, unable to think of anything but the feeling of wind through his hair.

The redstone sun was momentarily forgotten.

“So,” False broke the silence. “Where do we start?”

Mumbo shook himself, slowly scrambling up a nearby stone hill to look around. All the biomes still looked as cool as when he’d first made it. His storage system looked like it’d been deactivated. As good a place to start as any.

They picked their way slowly through the small biomes. Mumbo was anxiously twining his hands together, wondering what it would be like to be around redstone again. Iskall was occasionally writing comments and trying to show Mumbo, but he could not pay attention.

They walked down one of the ‘arms’ that made up the internal structure of the dome. Everyone was tense, watching Mumbo for any sign of…well…anything, really.

The small artificial biomes still looked amazing, and the storage system was impressive as ever. Large, organized, efficient, everything Mumbo wanted it to be when he built his base. There wasn’t a _ton_ of redstone involved, but it was enough to make him nervous.

Mumbo was trembling. He still had to push away thoughts of holding one of them hostage in exchange for knowing how to build a portal back to the redstone world.

It was logically ridiculous, but the compulsion was very convincing.

He walked slowly behind the huge wall of chests, feeling his guards’ eyes on his back. The redstone was still all in place, just how he left it. There was probably a disruption somewhere that someone had made recently, most likely in expectation of his visit.

Iskall put a hand on his shoulder, but Mumbo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ruby particles floating lazily in the air. He trailed his fingers through one of the red dust lines, shuddering a bit at its familiar texture. His entourage held their breaths, but the strongest thing he felt was sadness. The pull was there, but his revulsion towards it and towards himself overpowered it.

He turned from the storage system, much to the relief of everyone involved.

They went through the farms next, gliding down and walking around the perimeters without going inside. All of the systems were full to capacity of resources, but seemed intact. He’d been so proud of himself when he made them, but now they looked like they’d been made by someone else for someone else that wasn’t him.

They reached his bedroom last and Mumbo smiled sadly at the quaint, peaceful garden with the tree and his bed beneath it.

“We can go back now,” he murmured. There was nothing for him here.

* * *

The obsidian cube was so much smaller than he remembered. He was grateful for the thick walls, but he couldn’t help but wonder if by trapping the remnants of the sun there with him, he was burning himself away. He could only hope that there would be something left.

As soon as Iskall had removed his elytra, Mumbo went straight to his bed and fell asleep, trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Mumbo jerked awake outside of his bed again. He sat up, disoriented, realizing the ground was soft and moist.

Bugs hissed and chattered as Mumbo scanned his surroundings. He was in a dark forest in some sort of strange biome he’d never seen before. The air was thick and smelled of peat and moss.

It was obviously nighttime because the moon was out, but the sky was a strange color, not light but not dark. There were small twinkling stars dotting the heavens, some obscured by enormous trees that Mumbo had never seen before.

_Oh, for God’s sake. Not another damn dimension!_

He wanted to scream. He seriously couldn’t just stay in one world?

He considered killing himself just to see if he’d end up back in the cube, but he didn’t want to risk a death like Iskall had in the redstone world where he didn’t respawn.

He sighed, his survival instinct overriding his logic. Time to find somewhere to stay until morning. The pull of the red sun was nearly silent, which had to count for something. Mumbo felt its absence like a cold patch in his mind.

He got to his feet, picked a direction and began to walk. The swampy air was humid and his clothes clung to his skin. He took note of trees and bugs and rabbits, rabbits everywhere. At least those were familiar. He made slow progress, picking his way over large tree roots and around ponds and puddles.

He suddenly noticed axe marks on one of the trees where someone had been gathering wood. Someone else was here! He started walking faster, tripping over the uneven ground. He noticed a huge hill that looked hollow and a wooden bridge built over a patch of swamp.

“...Hello?” he called towards it, making his way over the bridge.

“Hello hello!” A voice replied. “Come in!” A dirt block in the hill was dug out right in front of Mumbo’s face and he nearly fell backwards into the swampy water below in surprise. A ruddy face peered out at Mumbo, before digging out the second dirt block beneath it. “Come in, come in! Hurry, before the goblins see you!” the man said, gesturing quickly.

 _Goblins?_ Mumbo thought, baffled, but ducked into the tiniest base he’d ever been in. There was a crafting bench, a furnace, and some sort of bug in a bottle that produced a pale, glowing light. Three wool blocks were laid out in a makeshift bed. A dog sat by the door, waving his tail and panting. Mumbo stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

The other man placed the dirt blocks back into place and gestured for Mumbo to sit down on the bed. Mumbo did so gingerly, right on the edge.

“Excuse my manners,” the man said, flopping down onto the wool next to Mumbo. “I’m Pablo Punchwood, and this is Wilson.” He rubbed the dog’s ears and the dog barked when he heard his name. “Now, if I may ask, who are you and how did you come to be in the twilight forest?”

Mumbo sighed, not even caring to ask for context any more. “I’m Mumbo Jumbo. I seem to be having an issue lately where I die and/or end up in other dimensions somehow.”

Pablo nodded sagely, startling Mumbo with his seriousness. He would have laughed if someone said that to him.

“I’ve experienced similar strange things. I accidentally activated a portal that brought Wilson and me here. However, I don’t think I’ve ever actually...died.” Pablo laughed slightly. “In fact, my whole life so far has been trying to keep Wilson and myself from doing just that.” He chuckled. “I’m trying to find a way back to my world, but I don’t know if it’s the same as yours.” He scratched his leg and Mumbo took note of Pablo’s dirty leather clothes. Obviously this man was an adventurer or explorer of some sort.

Mumbo sighed, suddenly hopeless. He’d killed his friends, betrayed them, and scared every hermit on the island away from him. He’d permanently maimed Grian and Iskall. He’d lost all enjoyment and pride in his base that had taken him so much time and work. And now he was stuck here, and might never be able to make it up to anyone. He fell back against the muddy wall in despair. Pablo watched him.

“You seem to be having some troubles, Mumbo. I’ve been to many places and met many different kinds of people, but I haven’t ever seen someone look as lost as you right now.” He chuckled again. “At least, more lost than just the fact that you’re in a completely unfamiliar world.”

Mumbo put his head in his hands. “I just… look, okay, the last strange dimension I was in, it messed me up. Really badly.”

Pablo waited.

“My best friends are back...home, permanently maimed, and they probably hate me because―” Mumbo took a shuddering breath. “Have you ever been in a world made of pure quartz? Just quartz as far as the eye can see? You have every item you could ever need, and the sun is bright red…” He trailed off, looking at Pablo and once again expecting to see mirth in the other man’s eyes, but saw only a peculiar sincerity.

“I can’t say I have,” Pablo said slowly. “But it sounds very lonely.”

“That’s the thing,” Mumbo said. “It was...at first. But then all I felt was this...compulsion, this need to build redstone contraptions, traps and murderous devices. I barely even felt anything. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just...built. It’s still there, sometimes.”

Pablo nodded. “I’ve noticed peculiar properties related to redstone, but don’t quite understand it myself. Perhaps you were using it as a distraction?”

“Maybe, I guess…I mean, I thought I didn’t understand it very well either, but soon I was building without even color-coding my circuits!” Mumbo said, twining his hands together. He was sure he wasn’t making any sense to Pablo, but he just kept talking. “And then...and then my friends showed up.” He took a very deep breath. Wilson whined, noticing his discomfort. He leaned against Mumbo’s legs. His fluffy body was grounding for Mumbo, somehow.

“I killed them. I killed two of them with a machine _I_ built. And I didn’t―feel―anything!” His voice rose to a shout and he slammed his fist into the dirt wall to punctuate his words. Wilson was startled and barked sharply. Tears were trickling down Mumbo’s face and he swiped them away roughly.

Pablo put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Mumbo jumped at the touch, but didn’t pull away. “But what you are feeling, my friend, is sorrow. And regret. And frustration with yourself. Look at how torn up you are about this. You didn’t feel anything then, but you obviously do now.”

Mumbo nodded, tears falling into his lap.

“Your friends, did they...respawn, as you say?” Pablo asked.

“Not―not at first. Not in the _other_ world. But a group of others brought me and their bodies back to our world and they finally did, but they came back...different. Iskall can’t speak and Grian has burn scars and lost both his arms. And I...I _caused_ that. They probably hate me for it.”

Pablo shrugged. “You didn’t mean to, though. The intent wasn’t there.”

Mumbo was becoming increasingly frustrated. “But I did! It doesn’t matter if I meant to or not, it happened, I did it, I should have to pay for it!”

Wilson tensed, but Pablo just exhaled, leaning back onto the wall. “Have you apologized?”

Mumbo shook his head, unable to look the other man in the eye.

Pablo gave a short laugh. “Well, that’s a little silly of you. As soon as you get back, you should do that. I’m sure they’ve already forgiven you. But really, you need to forgive yourself too. You said yourself that it ‘messed you up,’ and you’re obviously struggling as much as they might be. You deserve to be okay too, you know.” He gave a little half smile, rubbing Wilson’s ears.

“Oh, what, are you a shrink now?” Mumbo spat, regretting his words as soon as he said them. Wilson growled at his tone.

Pablo didn’t react angrily as Mumbo would have thought, just sighed gently. “Nope, but I’ve experienced a lot of things and made a lot of mistakes, and I’ve learned that you can’t blame yourself for something forever, because eventually no one remembers but you. Time keeps moving forwards whether you want it to or not.” He gave a short chuckle. “Even if time passes differently in different worlds, it’s still moving.”

Mumbo hated to admit it but Pablo had a point. He couldn’t hold onto this animosity for himself forever.

“But…if Iskall and Grian forgive me so quickly, how will I atone for what I’ve done to them? Who will hold me accountable if I don’t?” He looked up into the other man’s tanned face, meeting his eyes for a second.

Pablo smiled at him. “By asking that question, you already have. To yourself, at least.”

Mumbo was confused. “But I haven’t actually…” Pablo gave him a minute to think about it. “So by wanting to atone,” he started again, slowly, trying to untangle Pablo’s logic. “I’ve already made up for what I’ve done?”

“Well, you want to change, don’t you?”

Mumbo nodded, understanding what Pablo was getting at. He felt the ever-lingering presence of the sun recoil from his mind.

“But…I shouldn’t be over this so quickly. I shouldn’t be happy or okay when they’re struggling to deal with me and what I’ve done. How is that okay?” he asked, twisting his hands together.

Pablo clapped Mumbo on the shoulder, startling him. “You have the same rights as them, and the longer you’re miserable the longer they’ll be miserable.” Pablo chuckled at Mumbo’s stunned expression. “I’ll make you some food,” he said, standing up and heading over to his furnace. “Why don’t you tell me about the place you’re originally from?”

Mumbo blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. “Um, I live― _lived_ ―in an array of marine buildings I built myself. It’s where all my farms are. The biggest is a huge glass sphere that I made a storage system in, all powered by redstone.”

Pablo looked at him bemusedly, but shrugged. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

Mumbo nodded. “It was. It really was. At the time I was super proud of it, but it’s a bit pants compared to everyone on the mainland. It’s a huge island and there’s around...twenty of us? We have several different districts with different themes, and everyone builds stuff in their respective district…It sounds so complicated now that I’m saying it out loud!” He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, embarrassed to be talking for so long in front of a stranger.

Pablo laughed with him. “Oh, I don’t know, this world seems to have its own complications. I’ve seen creatures and plants here I’ve never seen anywhere else during my travels. Over in that direction―” He jerked his chin. “―there’s a strange ruin of a courtyard with something huge and snakelike in the center that doesn’t seem like it can leave its boundaries. And behind the hill, there’s a grove of plants that give off light and change color. I think it’s something the soil.”

Mumbo shook his head in wonder. Suddenly, a high-pitched cackling laugh echoed through the small room and Mumbo leapt to his feet, startled. “ _What the hell was that?_ ”

Pablo rolled his eyes, calm. “Neighbors.” He rapped on the dirt wall. “Quiet, you!” he called loudly.

“...Neighbors?” Mumbo asked, mystified.

“Yeah, this hill is completely hollow and the goblins have been mining away in it for ages.”

“Goblins?”

Pablo chuckled, though not unkindly. “Is there an echo in here? Yes, goblins. They’re small, pesky, humanoid creatures with picks and boots who love anything shiny.”

“Huh,” Mumbo said, sitting slowly back down, still a bit bewildered. “So, how long have you and―um―Wilson been here?”

Pablo considered this for a minute.”Three days, I think. It’s hard to tell because there’s no real daytime and nighttime.”

Mumbo snorted. “That sounds familiar. At least you get a sunrise and a sunset. ”

“So you still live in your own little city? Powered by lights and magic?” Pablo asked, his words a bit wistful.

Mumbo cringed. “Well, since I got back from the redstone world, Iskall and Grian made me…yeah, it’s basically a prison. Obsidian six blocks thick, no windows, super high off the ground…”

Pablo looked a bit alarmed and Mumbo laughed. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, and it’s actually probably for the best. It’s hard for me to be around redstone without feeling the compulsion to go back to the other world and finish my...work. I did visit my base recently, but...it felt wrong. I felt like I was in the wrong place. It didn’t feel like home anymore. I didn’t feel the compulsion as much though, but it seems to come and go.”

Pablo took a strip of steaming meat from the furnace and handed it to Mumbo before tossing another to Wilson, who devoured it in a few bites. Pablo grabbed his own and sat back down. “Is that you that’s feeling like that or something else?” he asked, tearing into the meat with strong teeth.

“It’s...we think it’s the redstone sun, actually, but I don’t really know for sure, to be honest,” Mumbo replied. He shrugged, taking a tiny bite of the meat. It was greasy and hot, but honestly one of the best meals he’d ever had.

“Then it _wasn’t_ really you killing your friends!” Pablo said triumphantly, smacking his lips. Wilson barked in agreement, wagging his tail. “See? It wasn’t your choice. You didn’t have any say in it, so you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

Mumbo sighed, but couldn’t help but smile. The man had a point, of course. He wiped his hands on his dress pants, something he’d never done before. Pablo swiped his sleeve across his mouth and Mumbo somehow wasn’t disgusted by it.

Pablo peeked outside the base again before slinging a leather boot filled with arrows over his shoulder. He dug out the dirt wall and whistling to Wilson. “The sun’s up again,” he said, looking back to Mumbo. “I’ve got to get moving. I want to take a look around the perimeter again and find somewhere new to build a base. Care to join me?”

Mumbo shook his head. “I’ve got to get home,” he said. “And I think I know how this time.” He wasn’t certain, but the idea felt right to him.

Pablo nodded. “Shame,” he said. “I could use some company. Wilson here isn’t much of a talker, and there’s only so many conversations you can have with yourself. Still, maybe we’ll meet again in a different world. I hope you get to where you need to be.” He winked, and Mumbo knew he wasn’t talking about just getting back to the island.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Mumbo said, standing and stretching. He patted Wilson on the head and shook Pablo’s calloused hand. “Best of luck to you, too. I hope you find your portal.”

Pablo smiled. “I know I will. That’s what keeps me going. Goodbye and good luck, Mumbo Jumbo!” He gave a jaunty wave as he crossed his small bridge, Wilson following at his heels.

“What a strange man,” Mumbo murmured to himself before lying down on the floor and closing his eyes. He was asleep before Pablo was even out of sight.

He woke up back in his own bed, and he’d never been so happy to see the smooth black ceiling above him. He sat up, knowing what he needed to do.


	13. Chapter 13

Iskall had just come in to restock Mumbo’s box of food, even though it was still mostly full. Mumbo was sitting on the bed, quiet as usual. But as Iskall turned to leave, Mumbo spoke.

“Iskall?” he asked the floor. “Can you...get Grian? Please?”

Iskall furrowed his brow but nodded.

He found Grian on the floor, doing his best to wiggle into a set of armor by himself. “Iskall!” he called joyfully when Iskall entered. “I got my pants on!”

Iskall shook his head, shoulders heaving with silent laughter. _We have an armor dispenser, you know,_ he scribbled before scratching it out and scrawling _Mumbo wants to see us, dude._

Grian suddenly turned serious and maneuvered himself into an upright position. “Well, let’s go, then.”

* * *

Mumbo was still sitting on the bed when they entered. He didn’t immediately say anything, so they settled themselves on the floor. _Let’s give him a bit,_ Iskall wrote to Grian.

Mumbo had memorized every irregularity in the carpeting while they were gone. He needed somewhere new to stare. He knew they were waiting and he tried to find the words to speak.

“I…”

He paused, cleared his throat, and tried again.

“I…”

“Take your time,” Grian said softly.

Mumbo tried a third time. “I...I’m sorry.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to recall Pablo’s words. “I...” He burst into tears.

He cried because he had killed and then maybe permanently maimed his friends. He cried because one of his favorite things in life had been ruined. He cried because he still dreamed of the red, the blazing. He cried because he had lost himself, out there on the flat quartz plain, and he wasn’t sure if he was fully back yet. He cried because his friends, who he’d killed, still trusted him for some reason to some extent. He cried because they were helping him even though there was a part of him that would kill them all over again to get back to that other world.

He scrubbed at his eyes with his shirt sleeves, still stained with redstone and blood and sweat. His shoulders shook as he tried to breathe without hiccupping.

“Iskall...can you…” Grian murmured to Iskall, motioning with his foot. Iskall rolled his eyes but went and sat next to Mumbo on the bed, wrapping his arms gingerly around him. Grian sat on the other side and just sort of patted Mumbo with his stump.

Mumbo tensed his muscles, making himself as small as possible. He hunched his back and wrapped his arms around himself. He didn’t deserve this.

He laughed suddenly, startling the others. “How—how did we get here?” he said, hiccuping.

Iskall began to scribble with one hand. _Well, Grian made a portal, and—_

“No, I think he means existentially,” Grian said.

_Oh oops lol_

Mumbo wiped his eyes again. “I just...if I could go back...smack some sense into myself. I...I dream about it. The—the red. It’s still here.” He gestured vaguely to his head.

The two watched Mumbo, listening.

“I can’t say it _made_ me but...I didn’t...I didn’t have complete control. Over myself. I had some...probably could have stopped myself...I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

Iskall let go of Mumbo and scribbled _It’s okay, Mumbo. We understand._ He shot a glance to Grian. _Well, I do, anyway :)_

Grian smiled, trying to hide the fact that he was surreptitiously trying to smack Iskall behind Mumbo. “Well, I don’t know if I can forgive you for taking away flight from me forever―” Mumbo flinched. “—but I can forgive you for losing yourself.”

Mumbo nodded, arms wrapped around himself.

“Anyway, what would I do without the other half of Architechs?”

Iskall scribbled _Other third!_ And Grian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Other third.”

“What if...I can’t do the tech part anymore? There’s not much else I’m good at…” Mumbo mumbled.

“If I could smack you, I would,” Grian said, and Iskall wrote _I would if I didn’t think it’d scare the shit out of you._ “Mumbo, you know I’m friends with you because I like you as a person, right? This isn’t some skill transaction where I build stuff and you make the redstone and that’s it. I do this because I love you, Mumbo. You’re my best friend!” Grian was talking very loud very close to Mumbo’s ear and Mumbo shrunk away from him.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sputtered, trying to deaden Grian’s tirade.

Iskall wrote, _What Grian said._

Grian took a deep breath, calming down. “Mumbo. You’re worth more than your skill at redstone. You’re worth more than your skill at building. You deserve more than people who just think that those traits are you.”

Mumbo nodded, tears slipping down his nose. Iskall crushed him in a hug, and Grian wrapped himself around the two of them as best as he could.

“Thank you,” he said in a very small voice, also thanking Pablo silently.

When they got up to leave, Iskall draped Mumbo’s new jacket over his shoulders. Mumbo wrapped it around himself like a blanket and laid down as the door closed.


	14. Chapter 14

Mumbo started writing letters to Pablo in his journal. He didn’t ever expect to be able to send them, and he wasn’t all that sure that his experience in the twilight forest hadn’t been a dream, but it helped him organize his thoughts.

 

   _Dear Pablo Punchwood(and Wilson),_

_I’ve made it back to my own world, back to my little box. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. And you might be right. I’ve tried to make up for what I’ve done since the day I was aware of myself. I’ve had setbacks of course, but I shouldn’t really blame myself for what the sun made me do._

_I still feel bad. I still have the memories of killing my two friends and trying to kill the others who came to get me. Every time I read something in Iskall’s speaking-journal or have to help Grian with something he’d normally use his hands for I feel guilty. Logically I know it’s not my fault, but seeing the visual effects of what I’ve done is really painful._

_I’m probably projecting, aren’t I? They haven’t told me that they hate me or blame me for what I’ve done. I’m just blaming myself because I couldn’t control it._

_I wish I knew what you’d say about this._

_I don’t even know if you’re real or if my conversation with you was real. Does that make me crazy? I guess not if it was a dream._

_Sorry. I’m just a bit confused with...everything. Hope you and Wilson got out of there safely._

_Your friend,_

_Mumbo Jumbo_

* * *

Iskall had brought him a bucket of water and Mumbo was finally able to wash his shirt. It wasn’t ever going to be white again, or even fully clean, but it was nice to at least scrub the remains of the redstone world off of his clothes. Most of the dust had been blown off by the wind during his ‘field trip’ to his base, but there were still bloodstains and gritty redstone remnants. When he was done he wrung out his damp shirt, put it on, and stretched out on his bed.

The sizzle of the redstone fragments in the dirty water buzzed in his ears and made his chest feel tight, but he tried to focus on counting his breaths instead. Still, his heartbeat increased as the memories of the red light and the constant heat crept back, and he wanted to scream. His breath became heavy and he curled into himself, pressing his hands over his ears. The sound of his rapid heartbeat replaced the redstone hiss, but he _knew_ it was still there.

 _Okay, okay, what are we going to do about this?_ he thought to himself, trying to approach things logically. But the fizzing bucket overpowered all logical thought. He felt hot, burning, blazing like he was back where the red sun was—

The door opened. Mumbo barely had enough time to gasp out ‘bucket’ before Grian was calling for Iskall. Mumbo loosened his hands slightly, but the quiet hiss was still there so he clamped down even tighter, beginning to shake. It was there, it was there, he was back under the sun that never set, he’d never be free of it. The door opened again, but Mumbo didn’t even hear it. He was lost in a world of redstone and heat.

_Come on, Mumbo. Breathe._

He let go of his head again, hands cramping and exhausted. The hiss was gone. He opened his eyes, still trembling and light-headed. _Breathe._

The panic was fading slowly, but his mouth was dry and he felt like the small room was spinning.

He turned away from the wall slowly, trying to swallow. Grian was standing there, a pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t pick it up. I couldn’t move it.” He gestured weakly with his stump. “Iskall came and got it, but it could have gone faster if—”

“I—what?” Mumbo blinked, confused. Of course Grian couldn’t pick up the bucket, Mumbo had burned his arms off. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

Grian shrugged sadly. “I just felt useless is all.”

Well, that certainly didn’t make Mumbo feel any better. If Grian was useless, what was he? Stuck in a box; a drain on time, resources and energy; a huge source of emotional stress; he was worse than useless. He was a burden.

 _Selfish,_ he thought, before getting yelled at by his inner Pablo. _None of those things are true. I am okay. This is okay._ He shook his head, trying to clear it, and wiped at his face.

“You’re not useless. Not at all,” Mumbo said to Grian. He stood, still a little shaky, and hugged Grian. “Thank you for calling Iskall.” He felt Grian tense momentarily before relaxing and allowing Mumbo to hug him. Mumbo let go quickly and sat back down, trying to establish himself not as a threat.

Grian gave a tiny shrug. “It was all I could do. I know what panic attacks are like, and I’m not quite confident enough to try to pull you out of one without making it worse, especially if mine are anything similar.”

Mumbo smiled sadly. “It’s not like it could get that much worse anyway,” he said, making a noncommittal gesture. “We’re back at the beginning.”

Grian rolled his eyes. “It could be a LOT worse, you daft spoon! You’ve been doing so much better. Look at yourself! Talking to me and Iskall, moving around, cleaning your nasty shirt—this isn’t a step backwards, Mumbo. It’s progress.”

Mumbo considered this. “So what you’re saying is that...healing...isn’t linear,” he said slowly.

Grian nodded. “Exactly. You got it.”

“So, even though I was fine with the redstone at my base…?”

“Doesn’t devalue how you feel, right now, in the moment, at all.”

Grian said it with such confidence that Mumbo believed him.

* * *

   _Dear Pablo Punchwood(and Wilson),_

_Things...haven’t been easy, to say the least. You were right, though, that my friends don’t hate me. I mean, they’re struggling of course, but I think we all are._

_Have you ever lost something you’re passionate about? It’s really painful. I loved redstone, and now I can’t even bear to be in the same room as it._

_Time is passing, like you said, so things will be developing. Whether or not they’ll be changing for the better or for the worse remains to be seen._

_In fact, they have been developing, and changing. Grian said something similar to you today about time, and if two smart people in my life tell me something then it must be true._

_Sorry for the short letter today. I’m exhausted. I’m sure you understand._

_Hope the interdimensional travel is treating you well._

_Your friend,_

_Mumbo Jumbo_

* * *

The mail had started, and the first letter he had gotten was from Grian, written and delivered by Iskall.

 

_Hey Mumbo!_

_I know I see you a lot, but I thought I’d give you a letter anyways. Well, technically I’m not giving it to you, but whatever. The point stands. Um...Iskall, what else do I say? Are you actually writing that? Stop-!_ There was a long ink scribble. _Anyways. Sorry about that._

_I don’t know if it’s good for you to be cooped up in there all the time. I’ve been trying to get Iskall to help me with a little project for you but he’s BUSY ALL THE TIME. (And for good reason! I have to take care of Grian! -Iskall) I want to get you out of there. You could be going stir-crazy and we wouldn’t know because you don’t talk to us enough. Just because you had so much freedom in that other world doesn’t mean that sticking you in a box is going to solve anything._

_I’ve been paying whoever will listen to mine as much obsidian as possible, just in case. Let me know what you’re comfortable with. I’ll make Iskall help somehow. (Maybe by not always being underfoot in my base? -Iskall)_

_Hope you’re doing alright, Mumby_

_-Grian_

 

Mumbo was smiling so hard his face hurt and tears were trickling down his cheeks. He stood and stretched, swiping at his eyes. His legs were only a little sore, and he was strong enough to stand up by himself now. He could only hope that he’d made as much progress mentally as he had physically.


	15. Chapter 15

The next time Iskall came around, Mumbo was flicking apple seeds at the wall. Iskall smiled at him and restocked Mumbo’s food box. Food was still hard for Mumbo. It was like he was hungry but was sick of basically every kind of food. Still, he tried his best to eat to please Iskall and Grian.

“Iskall?” he asked. “I’ve had an idea, recently. I don’t know if it would work…”

_ Let’s hear it, _ came Iskall’s reply.

Mumbo chose his next words carefully. “If I’m ever going to fully recover from...this…” He waved his hands around vaguely. “I’m going to have to be around redstone.” Iskall nodded, waiting. “I was wondering if...I could have some redstone dust. Or a piece of ore.” He spoke quickly, trying to assuage Iskall’s shock. “Not enough to make a circuit out of, so maybe not the ore. Just…” He sighed. This wasn’t getting anywhere. “I don’t think I’m comfortable around it anymore as it is. I need some time with it.”

Iskall considered. Mumbo held his breath while he wrote his answer.

_ I’ll ask Grian’s opinion. If you think you’re ready, we’ll figure something out. _

Mumbo beamed. “Thank you.”

* * *

At the next Architechs meeting, as Grian was beginning to call it when all three of them were in the room at once, Iskall brought up the possibility of a window.  _ It’s so dark in here, and it could help circulate the air a bit. _

Mumbo hoped they had an idea to keep mobs out and him in that didn’t involve glass.

“Oooh!” Grian said. “We could put, like, prison bars—sorry Mumbo—way out on the outer layer, and then surround the opening with cobwebs. That way even if you did get out, we’d find you before you got very far.”

Mumbo nodded thoughtfully. “It could also be a safety net. I seem to recall that we’re a fair distance from the ground, and I’m not going to get very far anyways without an elytra. And I’d hate to test how regenerating works after...all that.”

They all agreed on that point.

* * *

Construction on the window began and ended very quickly. Iskall mined out the obsidian, unable to complain about the lack of beacon because his hands were busy. Mumbo watched from the bed, not quite trusting himself to get involved. When Iskall finally broke through from outside, he waved at Mumbo before soaring off to grab the iron bars. Mumbo wanted to shove his whole head through the opening and into the obsidian tunnel. He could see the sky through a little square, could watch the clouds drifting lazily across it. He could even sort of feel the wind blowing gently through his hair. He closed his eyes, blissful, not even caring how much the bars obscured his view.

He wished they’d made the window lower so he could see it from his bed, but it was probably bad for him to be laying down all the time as it was. At least this would force him to stand up once in a while.

He stood there for a long while, breathing in the sky.

* * *

_ Dear Pablo Punchwood(and Wilson) _

_ I have a window in my box now, so I can see the sky and get a little ventilation in here. It really is a prison, but it’s sort of necessary. _

_ I think I’m ready to start doing some redstone stuff. Nothing serious, just like...I don’t know. Being around it again. Talking about it in different contexts. _

_ I actually really miss it. _

_ Sometimes I wonder about the world you came from. If it’s the same as mine. If you just live somewhere very, very far from our island, or if it’s a completely different world entirely. It’s so strange how the different dimensions work. Like, some portals only go one way and don’t leave you any means to get back to the world you were in before, and some go both ways.  _

_ Do you think that there’s just layers and layers of worlds on top of each other, and the only way to slip between them involves portals? It sort of makes you think about how if each world is infinite in its own right, and if there are infinite dimensions if it ever stops. What else is out there? _

_ I know you don’t mind me waxing poetic because it sort of seems like something you’d enjoy, and I don’t even know you that well. I only knew you for what, one twilight-forest evening? Which I’m guessing is about one my-Overwold-hour considering how long I was gone? _

_ Time is so weird. I wonder how you keep track of it during your travels. _

_ I wish I’d gotten to know you better somehow. You seemed like a very wise person, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about some of the things you told me. Most have been super helpful, so thank you for that. _

_ I doubt we’ll ever cross paths again, and that’s why I have the confidence to write these letters. I don’t have to worry about what you’ll think of the crazed ramblings of a madman because, well, you’ll hopefully never see these. _

_ And I have a feeling that if you did, you wouldn’t particularly mind. _

_   Your friend,  _

_ Mumbo Jumbo _


	16. Chapter 16

One day, Iskall was chased into the room by a very angry Grian. “This idiot hasn’t been giving you your mail!” Iskall gave an embarrassed smile and shrugged. He wasn’t able to write anything in his book because his hands were full of journals and paper.

Mumbo sat up, having been lying on his bed again. “Are those all for me?”

Grian rolled his eyes. “No, just the two little ones at the top. Yes, they’re all for you, you spoon!”

Iskall dumped his burden on the bed, shuffling through the pile to find his own book.  _ Most of them are probably advertisements lol _

Mumbo laughed. “Well, that’s...basically useless.”

He picked up the largest first, a bound book with at least fifteen pages. “Joe’s,” explained Grian. “Probably poetry or prose. The man uses so many unnecessary words.”

Doc had sent a few letters, referencing some inside jokes and updating Mumbo on some of the island’s activities. Zedaph sent three identical generic Christmas cards for whatever reason, even though it was sometime in June. Stress wrote a heartfelt get-well card, including some cookies. False mused on the possibilities of other worlds, careful to avoid the topic of redstone and  _ his  _ world. He even got a letter from the local capitalist monopoly-corporation, ConCorp, telling him the redstone had been halted at his base for the time being, but that the Futuristic District was inferior without him. And of course, there were several obligatory advertisements for stores, most with coupons that he’d probably never use.

Every time Mumbo picked up a letter or a book, it seemed like there was another beneath it. All the hermits had sent him something, including the local ‘superhero,’ apparently. Several eggs had rolled out onto the pile with the rest. Mumbo picked one up, confused for a minute, before meeting Grian’s eyes.

“Poultry Man,” they said at the same time, both laughing. Iskall joined them, sketching a chicken head (Mumbo thought it looked a bit more like a phantom) his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“My word, that was ages ago,” Mumbo said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I hope none of them hatch. I don’t need the feathers getting everywhere.”

“Well, if you’re not going to appreciate m—ah, Poultry Man’s generous gift, I might as well just take them back!” Grian said, mock-offended. He stared at the eggs for a few minutes as though calculating, before turning to Iskall with a pleading look on his face. Iskall sighed and scooped up the eggs, tucking them in his pack. “Thank youuu,” Grian gushed. “You have no idea how hard it is to cause mischief when you don’t have arms.”

Iskall scribbled,  _ I can’t imagine, considering how much you’re underfoot in my base.  _ He made a face, but was obviously holding back laughter.

Mumbo winced but gave a small smile.

* * *

Mumbo’s methods of entertainment had devolved from reorganizing his food box to repeating long words out loud until they stopped being words. So far his most challenging was ‘phenomenon.’

“Phe-phenonemon. Pheeeeenonomon.”  _ Gah.  _ He couldn’t help but laugh at himself struggling, but it was a bit frustrating. It was like the word got tangled before it came out. Perhaps it was getting stuck on his moustache.

Grian entered, a baffled smile on his face. “Phenomenon?” he asked, by way of a greeting.

Mumbo nodded in affirmation, still wrestling with the syllables. “Phe...phenomenom.”

“Phenomenon.”

“Phenon―phenonenon.”

Grian started giggling uncontrollably but took a deep, steadying breath, trying to regain his composure. “Wait. Wait. Okay. Try it backwards. The syllables. On.” He motioned for Mumbo to repeat after him. “On.”

Mumbo decided to humor him. “On.” 

“Non.”

“Non.”

“Menon.”

“Menon.”

“Nomenon.” Grian was obviously finding it increasingly hard to keep a straight face.

“N-nomenon,” Mumbo echoed, also fighting back laughter.

“Phenomenon.”

“Phenomenon!” They burst out laughing. “I got it! Phenomenon. Phenomenon!” Mumbo couldn’t help but proudly repeat the word, delighted by his success. 

Iskall entered too, as confused as Grian had been. He hesitantly spelled something out in his book, pausing with his pen in the air before showing them.

_ Phenonenom...? _

Mumbo fell onto his bed in hysterics, unable to calm himself. Grian was gasping for breath. His loud cackle just made Mumbo laugh harder. Iskall let out a few squeaks, but it was obvious he was laughing because he was nearly on the floor, shaking with mirth. They laughed until tears were pouring down their faces and their chests ached. 

It was almost possible to forget that the red sun had ever happened. Almost.


	17. Chapter 17

The day came for Mumbo’s redstone exposure therapy. Everyone was anxious, Mumbo most of all. Grian and Iskall were both wearing armor, a detail Mumbo definitely couldn’t ignore.

Iskall placed a wooden slab next to Mumbo’s bed as a makeshift table. “You ready?” Grian asked.

Mumbo nodded, fidgeting. He was painfully nervous.

Iskall carefully poured the handful of dust onto the wooden slab in front of Mumbo, stepping back to give him space. Mumbo didn’t miss how Iskall surreptitiously moved himself between Mumbo and Grian.

The redstone hissed.

Mumbo closed his eyes, trying to breathe regularly. His heart rate was already up in anticipation of the panic to come, and he was doing his best to calm down.

He exhaled, reaching a trembling, pale finger towards the fizzling dust.

“Take as much time as you need,” Grian murmured. The tension in the air was nearly painful. Mumbo withdrew a little, steadying his breathing before reaching out again.

It’s touch was familiar. He tried to call up memories of building farms and moveable mazes and hidden doors, the fun he’d had puzzling over problems and improvements. The red sun lingered like a shadow on the edge of his consciousness, but he was able to trail his finger gently through the gleaming pile of powder. He gently pinched a little between his fingers, letting it fall back onto the wood. It gave a small pop, startling him and sending a shock of cold adrenaline through his body. He tried his best not to scrub the dark, clinging grains off his skin in a panic, but instead wiped them slowly off and back onto the pile.

Mumbo shuddered, pulling his hands back and letting out a huge breath. “I did it. I actually did it,” he breathed, relieved.

Grian and Iskall has huge grins spread across their faces. “You did, Mumbo!” Grian exclaimed, and Iskall clapped. Mumbo ducked his head shyly away from the praise as Iskall scooped up all the redstone dust and removed the makeshift wooden table. 

“Now I just have to be okay with doing that consistently,” Mumbo said, exhaling. “Sorry for taking up your time with this.”

Grian shrugged and pointed to Iskall book where he’d scribbled  _ No rush! _

* * *

That night, Mumbo’s nightmares returned in full force. The devouring red light burned him slowly, showing him the violent and brutal ways he could kill his friends. Their blood on his hands, his hands on the levers and buttons, his mark on the contraptions he’d built himself. He watched through dispassionate eyes, but inside he was screaming. Joe, drowned. Stress, dropped from an incredible height. Tango, set on fire. Xisuma, sliced in half. Scar, blown apart by TNT. Doc, suffocated. Ren, smashed into a wall. Iskall, crushed. Grian burned, again and again and again.

He woke gasping, face wet with tears. He wanted to scream with frustration because there was still a part of him, or part of the sun, that was pleased by the frightened screams of his friends, by the crunch of bones and the clack of the murderous redstone. 

* * *

Mumbo had never been one to keep a diary, but it helped him organize his thoughts. Some pages were still letters to Pablo, but he was learning to just write for himself. It was a different perspective, and he was mostly sure that was probably a healthy choice.

He’d started writing down his dreams and then changing the endings, and sometimes just rewrote the dreams entirely. The red sun blinked off. His friends respawned moments later, laughing. He smashed the redstone machine apart, just in time to stop the deaths. It helped a little, and eventually the nightmare’s intensity began to subside.

He was also trying to reply to some of his letters, including a thank you for Stress’ cookies. It was very slow, and he was sure that Iskall wasn’t actually delivering them all that quickly either. But hey, it’s not like he could do much about it. 

For some reason, Iskall and Grian decided they wanted to play golf at Cub’s golf course. Iskall, Doc, and Stress had rigged up a sort of prosthetic hand-sling for Grian so that he’d be able to throw stuff, but Iskall still had to carry him when flying.

Mumbo would never get sick of flying with an elytra. He wished he’d had the Fork of Friendship, his old trident enchanted with Riptide and gifted by Grian that could launch him out of the water with no rockets involved, but it was probably long gone. Still, using rockets was a small price to pay to be able to feel the wind in his hair, chase clouds, and breathe the sky.

He still didn’t know if it was the best idea to bring him to the golf course, especially since the teleporting powers of enderpearls were extremely fast, and all it would take was one minute of lost focus to be shot away across the island, towards redstone or the shopping district.

Grian was a little nervous too. He still wasn’t used to only having partial use of just one arm, and Mumbo remembered the difficulty there was in coordinating your jumping and throwing. Even Iskall looked worried and it had been his idea.

Iskall dispensed the pearls for Mumbo, who stayed a fair distance away from the machine. He busied himself with picking out tridents and a banner. He helped Grian with his, too, because the poor man was struggling to hold all his supplies.

Golf was a strange little game that Cub had come up with that combined some of the stranger means of magical flight. They started in a pool of water and used Riptide enchanted tridents to launch them upwards where they’d then throw an enderpearl, a magical, one-use teleportation item harvested from Endermen, to teleport them towards the flag. Each shot after that they had to place a block of ice and break it to make a small puddle to shoot themselves out of. They had to wear armor because landing on the ground could cause a lot of damage and none of them really wanted to try dying again. No one was really  _ good  _ at golf, except maybe Cub, but that was because he’d built the course.

The three of them had agreed ahead of time to only do one or two holes because none of them were sure they’d have the endurance for more than that. Mumbo fidgeted, still not used to wearing armor again. The boots especially—how had he put up with the diamond  _ boots? _

Iskall held up his book and Mumbo and Grian leaned forwards to read it.  _ Everybody remember how to do this? Grian first, Mumbo next, me last.  _

“Glad you’re not wearing shorts this time, Iskall,” Grian quipped, referencing the hideous khaki shorts Iskall had worn last time they’d played together. Mumbo tried very hard not to laugh as Iskall’s mouth dropped open in mock offense. Grian gave a few practice shots as Iskall scribbled away at a retort. Before he could show him, however, Grian had figured out how to maneuver his arm quick enough to switch out his trident for an enderpearl, and teleported away. “I’m okay!” he called, but Mumbo could head strain in his voice.

He took his place in the water, gentle waves lapping at his waist. He made his shot without any issues and landed a few blocks ahead of Grian, who was leaning against his banner. “You alright?” Mumbo asked. 

Grian nodded, rotating his shoulder. “Ouch,” he said, by way of explanation. Iskall landed near Mumbo, all of them within two shots from the hole. Grian and Iskall dug out their concrete blocks instantaneously with picks, Mumbo hitting his desperately to keep up. Iskall took pity on him and took the block out for him.

The ice was easier to break. Grian made his shot, going a little wide and landing in the sand. Mumbo landed on the fairway near him, or “the green bit” as Grian called it. Iskall was the closest, landing right on the edge. Mumbo walked over and pushed him in, just like they’d done before, but he didn’t miss the flash of fear on Iskall’s face. He resolved never to touch him without permission.

Mumbo went next, barely making it. Grian went wide again, tossing his enderpearl haphazardly in his exhaustion.

When Mumbo heard the noteblock chime beneath the iron bottom of the hole, the light chime echoed through his chest and he could suddenly feel the redstone hidden just beneath his feet that powered the noise. He knelt, pressing his hands against the concrete beneath him, closing his eyes in concentration.

“...Mumbo?” Grian asked, golf forgotten.

He could see it, feel it beneath him. There was enough materials to begin the start of another machine, one that could bring him closer to the redstone sun. Mumbo started trembling.

Iskall dropped his tridents, creeping over to where Mumbo was. Grian followed carefully.

Mumbo curled his fingers, trying to dig them into the concrete. His whole body was tense, trying to push him in two directions at once.. The edge of the redstone’s influence was right behind him. He could feel it like an absence.

“Mumbo…” Grian said again, closer this time. Mumbo focused on Grian’s voice, took hold of the emptiness behind him, and launched himself backwards, scrambling away from the hole and the redstone, trying to get away.

“I need to leave,” he gasped. He twitched, hyperventilating, and his eyes glazed over as he lost control. “Tell me how to make the portal!” he screamed, leaping forwards towards Grian, back towards the redstone.

Iskall grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around Mumbo’s waist. Grian stared in horror as Mumbo grappled with Iskall, trying to get a hold on his enderpearls to teleport away. Iskall managed to snatch them away from him and Mumbo yelled in anger. Iskall got a stronger hold on Mumbo, tearing off Mumbo’s elytra and lifting off. He left Grian behind, calling after him. Mumbo screamed and struggled, but Iskall held on firmly, a determined expression on his face. They made it back to Mumbo’s obsidian box without crashing, somehow, and Iskall dropped Mumbo unceremoniously down the elytra hole. Mumbo landed in a heap, sobbing.

Obviously, golf was a failure.


	18. Chapter 18

Iskall bundled an unresponsive Mumbo back into his room and left him lying on his bed. Again.

Mumbo fully came back to himself exhausted and still choking back small sobs. He was so angry at himself for losing control again. He tore his jacket off, pacing the room, head in his hands. Would his setbacks ever end?

“Mumbo?” came Grian’s voice, small outside the door. “Are you alright?”

Mumbo threw himself onto his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, hiding his face. “Does it look like it?” he said softly, muffled by his hands.

“I know you’ve taken a step back, but―”

“Grian, I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work. How long have I been stuck in here? Nothing’s changed!” He bit his lip, tears already starting up again. He was surprised he hadn’t run dry yet. All he seemed to do was cry. “I’m just going to be like this forever, especially if I can’t handle a damn  _ golf course _ .”

Grian gave a small sigh. “Mumbo, even if you are going to be ‘like this forever,’ I’m going to keep trying to help you. Forever. I don’t want you to end up trapped in this box for the rest of your life, kept away from the world and hating yourself and something you used to be so passionate about.”

“I’m not worth the effort and I’ve already caused you so much trouble,” Mumbo murmured.

“Actually, you don’t get to decide whether or not you’re worth it to me,” Grian snapped, voice echoing in the obsidian hall. “It’s my choice to spend how much energy  _ I  _ want on helping you, so you’re going to have to learn to accept it.”

Mumbo sighed, wondering when Grian’s patience would run out. He knew Grian was impatient, and he was already frustrated by his lack of mobility. “Whenever you want to leave, just know you can,” he said.

Grian threw open the door, startling Mumbo backwards. “Nope,” he said, and plopped down onto the floor. “Try getting rid of me. I dare you.”

Mumbo gave a wry smile and lay back onto his bed, closing his eyes. He’d already accepted his sentence of eternity, why couldn’t Grian do the same?

Grian fidgeted and Mumbo could hear him shifting around. “So,” he asked, breaking the short silence. “Got anything good to eat in here?”

Mumbo gestured to the chest. Grian stared at him pointedly, and Mumbo sighed. “You were so much easier to handle when you had arms,” he said snarkily, regretting it immediately after he said it. Still, he got up and opened the chest for Grian.

Grian shrugged. “You’ve only got one thing to blame that on,” he said as he perused the meager pickings.

“Myself,” Mumbo said ruefully at the same time Grian said “The redstone sun.”

They looked at each other. “Redstone doesn’t affect your mind,” Mumbo said slowly.

“Have you ever snorted it?” Grian said, chuckling at his own bizarre joke. “And obviously it does, because no matter how much you like making traps and no matter how good you are at redstone, that thing you built? It wasn’t even color-coded! You’re not perfect, and I don’t even think you, Doc, and Iskall all working together could make that in a normal situation.”

Mumbo shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Maybe you’re right…” he hedged. He did know that the sun was still affecting him somehow.

Grian scoffed, throwing his head back as though offended. “Come on, you know me. I’m always right.”

Mumbo rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a small smile. Maybe he could give it another chance.

_ Here we go again, _ he thought to himself, sighing inwardly.


	19. Chapter 19

_ So, golf sucked as always, _ Iskall said at the next meeting. Mumbo cringed.

“Yeah, I feel like we should have stuck to never doing that again,” Grian said, laughing. “It probably wasn’t the best idea for Mumbo’s second day out.” 

Mumbo fidgeted, nodding his agreement.

_ Cub apologized a lot, but it’s not really his fault. This time we actually will never do that again lol. I feel like we should just go flying the next time we drag Mumbo out of here. _

Grian considered. “I’ve been making a list in my head of all the potentially super dangerous and safe places on the island for Mumbo to go, and let me tell you it’s harder than you think. So what we’ve got so far for potential next destinations are the top layer of my base, Mumbo’s itty bitty bedroom, there’s a couple shops that could work but I don’t like the idea of all the crowding…” he trailed off.

_ What about your shipwreck-in-a-bottle?  _ Iskall asked.

Grian made a face. “I haven’t worked on that in ages. Though I suppose there’s no redstone…?” He shrugged. “I guess. On the definitely not list is Mumbo’s base, Doc’s base, X’s shop, the entirety of the Industrial District, all farms, the stock exchange, uhhhh…”

_ The rail system, Sahara, the civil war battlefield, most of my base, anything Doc has built ever _ , Iskall added.

“I don’t really have a lot of options, do I,” Mumbo said, smiling wryly.

Grian shrugged. “Hey, it’s better than nothing, and soon you’ll―” He went quiet as Iskall looked at him in horror.

Mumbo raised an eyebrow. “Soon I’ll what?”

Iskall scribbled in his book, obviously yelling at Grian. Grian smiled sheepishly at both of them. “Spoilers,” he said to Mumbo.

Mumbo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay, but what about other dimensions? Not―not _that_ one, but have any of you been to the End or the Nether since…?” He trailed off.

Iskall thought about it and nodded. He flipped backwards through the book and pointed to the word  _ Nether  _ in another sentence he’d written. He shrugged.

“So the Nether could work...but maybe through a portal that’s been already scoped out and everything,” Grian said. “I’ll add that to my mental list.”

“Maybe not the End,” Mumbo said. “Just because...the Void and everything.” He did miss the days with Iskall, raiding empty End cities for elytra and killing the strange, cube-shaped shulkers to use their shells to make boxes. Those were some of his fondest memories with Iskall, the friendly banter over who would get to the elytras first and who would kill the most shulkers, but the risk was too much.

Iskall nodded reluctantly, obviously remembering the same thing he was.  _ We’ll go End-busting again someday, bro _

Mumbo smiled, nodding. “Someday,” he echoed.

* * *

Iskall and Grian came in one day and plopped down on the floor in front of Mumbo. Iskall scribbled a quick sentence to Mumbo.  _ How does a redstone repeater work? _

Mumbo blinked, surprised, and a flash or red light streaked across his mind. “Um, you’re better at redstone than I am, don’t you know?”

Iskall sighed.  _ We’re trying something new. Explain it the best you can, like you’re talking to Grian. _

Grian looked up at Mumbo with exaggerated curiosity and wide eyes. “Are repeaters the clicky ones with the two things or the blinky ones with the three things?”

Mumbo was absolutely baffled. “Uh…”  _ Flashflashflash  _ went the sun. “They’re the, um, clicky ones. With the two...things, as you so aptly put it.”

Grian nodded, faking interest.

Mumbo shook his head, trying to clear it. “Okay, okay, so a powered redstone line only lasts…” His thoughts were getting more and more muddled. “Um…” He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and took a shuddering breath.  _ I know this. I know this. _ “A powered redstone line only last a certain distance and repeaters can extend that distance so you can make longer lines.” He exhaled with relief.

Iskall scribbled something else. _And what do comparators do?_ He wrote something smaller and hid it from Grian _._ _You can dumb it down a bit._ He gave Mumbo a knowing smile.

_ Oh, God, I have to do this again? _ Mumbo took a deep breath and tried to visualize just a single comparator. “They have...two modes.”

“Modes?” Grian echoed.

Mumbo nodded slowly. “One changes two inputs one way and one in a, um, different way.”

“Different?”

Grian was obviously being obnoxious on purpose, and it was helping distract Mumbo from his whirling thoughts.

“If you have an input going into the side of a certain strength and an input in the back of a certain strength, one mode subtracts one from the other and the other adds it.”

Grian nodded, exaggeratedly serious. “I see. And whether or not the little blinky thing is on or off determines that?”

Mumbo exhaled. “Yeah. Basically.” Comparators were hard to explain on a good day.

Iskall was starting to giggle, shoulders convulsing, but he tried to regain his composure when Grian bumped him with his shoulder.

“So what do you use a repeater for?” Grian asked slowly, eyes fixed on Mumbo’s face for a reaction.

Mumbo’s mind was flooded with images, moving so fast that he could barely catch them. He could feel himself losing control, he could feel the heat burning his skin…

“Delay!” he shouted, startling Grian and Iskall. “Delay. You can use them to create delay in a system.” He was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room. “I―I think that’s enough for today,” he gasped.

Iskall nodded, smiling.  _ You did well _ .

Grian shrugged. “I still don’t understand redstone so you didn’t do  _ that  _ well.”

Iskall slugged him but he was laughing, and so was Grian, and their laughter chased the red from Mumbo’s mind. He was still shivery and lightheaded, but he relaxed his tense muscles.

It was a start, at least.


	20. Chapter 20

Iskall died. Grian shouted down the obsidian hallway to Mumbo’s room that Iskall had misjudged the distance and landed too hard on the obsidian roof with no armor to protect him. Mumbo winced, remembering dying like that numerous times when building his base.

Death was a common enough occurrence in the Overworld, and they’d all died a ton of times before. The pain was only temporary and they’d nearly immediately wake up in their beds without armor, elytra, tools, or anything they’d been carrying. At the very worst is wasn’t much more than a nuisance, and the most difficult part of it was getting back to where you’d died from your bed to gather up all the stuff you dropped before it dissolved into nothing. Elytra-based deaths were one of the most common, usually involving misjudged distanced like Iskall or simply falling because you tried to fly and your elytra was worn out.

A cold feeling settled in Mumbo’s stomach and he sat up ramrod straight on the bed. Iskall hadn’t died since the redstone world. What if he came back worse? Missing limbs like Grian, or permanently crippled? Blind or deaf? What if he never came back at all?

Grian made it to the door, limping, face streaked with tears either from the wind or the stress. Mumbo got up to meet him. “I’ve sort of managed to grab most of his stuff and shove it into a box,” Grian said through the door, gasping for breath. “I’m lucky I didn’t die myself, especially after falling down the elytra chimney, but Iskall landed in such a way that I landed after he did…” He shook his head slowly. “I’d come in to sit, but I need Iskall to open the door for me,” he said. His face was pale through the small windows on the door. He was quiet for a few minutes and Mumbo leaned against the door.

“How long until they find us if...?” Grian asked softly, barely a whisper. He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Mumbo shook his head. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Didn’t they make an alarm system or something in case of trouble for Iskall?”

Grian didn’t answer. Mumbo looked through the door to see his friend collapsed on the ground. “Grian?” he asked, louder. “Grian!” Grian didn’t answer.

_ He must have been hurt worse than he thought in the fall.  _ Mumbo noticed a nearly invisible dark stain spreading across the black stone.  _ Did he hit his head? _ Mumbo paced the room in a panic, trying to imagine a world where no one knew he was here, where he died of hunger over and over in a small obsidian box with his best friend’s body lying right outside the door. 

Grian moaned and Mumbo rushed back to the door. “Grian! Wake up. Please, please stay awake.” He couldn’t keep the hysteria from his voice. He looked at the door and then looked down at his hands. There was only one thing he could do.

The door was iron. It would have taken him less than a second to take it out with a diamond pick, but he only had his fists.

He shook his head, resolved. There was only once choice.

He hit the door, trying to ignore the pain spreading across his knuckles. He aimed for the lock and hit again. The door shuddered a bit on its hinges but didn’t open. He could tell his knuckles were going to be awfully bruised, but he kept trying.

Grian moaned again from the other side of the door, weaker this time.  _ Oh, you ridiculous man, _ Mumbo thought, unsure whether he was thinking of himself or Grian.

He hit the door again, shaking his hand out and trying the left one instead. His gasping breath echoed through the tiny box. He felt blood start to trickle down his knuckles.  _ Just a bit more. _

The door was starting to shake more every time he hit it. His hands hurt so badly he could barely lift them to try again.  _ One more. _

The lock broke on the last hit and Mumbo shoved the heavy door open, using his full bodyweight. Grian lay slumped over on his side against the obsidian, eyes closed and face whiter than quartz.

Mumbo gathered his friend in his arms, ignoring the stabbing pains in his ruined hands. He couldn’t help but notice how small Grian looked, crumpled and pale.

“Grian, come on, Grian, wake up, wake up,” he murmured, laying Grian on the bed and rushing over to his food box. If Grian hadn’t eaten in a while, he wasn’t going to heal and would just bleed out.

_ Shit, shit, shit,  _ Mumbo thought, trying to find his last bowl of mushroom soup. He finally did, bringing it back to the bed where Grian hadn’t moved. His blood was spreading across the pillow and his face was pallid.

“Please be alive, please don’t say I’ve killed you again,” Mumbo murmured, mostly to himself, angling the bowl to Grian’s pallid lips and touching the liquid gently to his mouth. “Please, Grian, you need this, I’m so sorry.”

Grian’s eyes fluttered and Mumbo almost sobbed with relief. “Grian, come on, I’m sorry but you have to drink this.” Mumbo tipped the bowl gently towards Grian’s mouth again. Grian’s throat moved, swallowing the smallest of sips. He choked, coughing soup onto Mumbo’s shirt and wheezed. Mumbo hurriedly lifted him as gently as he could to a more upright position and slowly helped his friend drink the entire bowl. 

Grian fell back into the bed, exhausted. Mumbo slumped to the floor in relief, placing the bowl on the ground next to him. He gently parted Grian’s ginger hair and probed the wound, which seemed to be healing nicely already.  _ Thank goodness for regeneration. _

He leaned against the side of the bed, suddenly drained. His hands were in so much pain he could barely move them.

_ I should probably eat something too, _ he managed to think before passing out.


	21. Chapter 21

Mumbo woke to hands shaking him roughly. Iskall’s angry face was very close to his. Iskall roughly grabbed Mumbo’s hair and yanked him to his knees, shoving his book in Mumbo’s face. Iskall let go of Mumbo’s hair and stabbed his finger at each word for emphasis. _DID. YOU. HURT. GRIAN._

Mumbo had a pounding headache and his scalp felt like it was on fire. “N-no!” he stammered, scrambling backwards. Iskall bared his teeth at him. “He was hurt from your fall―I just―”

“ ‘Skall,” Grian mumbled from the bed. “Stah’pit. ‘S true. Fell.”

Iskall narrowed his eyes at Mumbo, pointing to the newly repaired iron door. He scrawled a new sentence, digging his pen into the page and slashing underlines beneath it. _Don’t do that again_ _._

“He would have died if I didn’t!” Mumbo protested, still pressed against the wall, breathing heavily. Iskall in full armor was certainly ferocious and incredibly imposing on a good day, but Mumbo was so exhausted that his very presence made Mumbo want to shrivel up. Iskall reached for him and Mumbo flinched backwards, cowering against the bed. Iskall’s eyes dropped to Mumbo’s ruined hands and he sighed heavily. _Sorry, bro,_ he scrawled. _Grian looked like he was dead. I was sure you’d killed him again._

Mumbo flinched. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, hanging his head. Iskall snapped his fingers to get Mumbo’s attention again, pointed to the food box and _grunted_. Mumbo’s mouth dropped open.

Iskall cocked his head at him, exasperated. _Yeah, I can make a little noise now. Woohoo. Now go eat._ He jerked his chin back towards the box.

Mumbo obliged, picking at a piece of meat. His fingers were stabbed with new pain every time he moved them, but he managed to finish his food. Iskall sighed, collapsing onto the floor. _What am I going to do with the two of you?_

Grian leaned over the bed to look, rolling slowly onto his side. Mumbo steadied him with a gentle hand.

“H’bout…heal…potion?” Grian mumbled, collapsing onto his back. Iskall smacked his hand into his forehead in the universal symbol of _oops_.

He pulled two small bottles out of his pack, handing them both to Mumbo. _They’re only power 1, sorry._

Mumbo downed the shimmery liquid, sighing with relief as the bones in his hands slowly began to knit back together. The burning on his scalp faded. He was still left with bruises on his knuckles, but it was better than nothing.

He helped Grian drink his, and Grian’s face regained some color. He managed to sit up, resting his back against the headboard and grinning weakly at the both of them.

Iskall grunted again, patting Grian gently on the back. He showed Grian the same explanation he’d shown Mumbo.

“I wonder if it was dying that did it? For your voice?” mused Mumbo. His strength had somewhat returned thanks to the potion, but he still wanted to sleep for about a month.

Iskall shrugged and shook his head. _I don’t know, but I’m not testing it again._

Grian looked like he was considering it. He rotated his left shoulder, but then shook his head. “We...we’re still weird about death...not worth it,” he managed to say.

Iskall grunted in agreement.

* * *

Iskall managed to transport Grian back to his base somehow, promising to return as soon as Grian was back at full strength. Mumbo was scrubbing at his shirt again, now flecked with mushroom soup.

_Why haven’t I asked for a new shirt yet?_ he wondered.

The scratches on his hand were gone for the most part, thankfully. He was grateful that the healing magic of this world still worked on him after his brief time in the redstone world and the twilight forest.

He wondered momentarily whether or not the machine and all his other little redstone builds still stood on the quartz under the red sun, or if they vanished once he’d gone. He shook the thought away, unwilling to think about that world voluntarily. He instead wondered how Pablo was faring in his forest.

Iskall and Grian came back. “Well, that was quick,” Mumbo said, hurriedly pulling on his damp shirt.

Grian shrugged. “Hey, all it takes is a max healing potion. No elytra fall can kill me!” He thought about this for a second. “I take that back. Some elytra falls can. That one didn’t.”

Mumbo stared at him, baffled. “I mean, yeah, I guess. Sounds like you’re feeling better at least.”

“Up and talking, minutes after near-death, just like the old days.” Grian said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as though to prove his physical fitness. “Sorry about your shirt, by the way.” Mumbo looked down at his shirt and laughed.

“Wasn’t the first stain, won’t be the last. I probably need some more buckets of water, though.”

“Ah, classic Mumbo,” Grian said. “Always losing his buckets.”

“Hey, I haven’t lost any of the ones I have now!” Mumbo protested, but Grian was laughing and Iskall was doing his silent shaking laugh so Mumbo couldn’t help but smile.


	22. Chapter 22

The next time Iskall and Grian came back, they brought Mumbo many buckets and many clean clothes. He did his best to wash himself before putting a new shirt on, and he almost sighed with relief at the feeling of clean cotton on his skin. “It’s actually the color it’s supposed to be!” Grian said, faking astonishment when he saw Mumbo.

Mumbo laughed before putting on his jacket. They’d even brought him ties! He hadn’t worn a tie since…well...it had been a long time. He passed over his usual red, going instead for a pale blue.

“Well? Do I look more like myself yet?” he asked once he was finished knotting the tie.

The two gave him a once-over. _Still not as handsome as me,_ Iskall wrote.

Mumbo rolled his eyes and Grian laughed. “You may need a shave too, dude. You’re gonna lose your moustache in all that beard.”

Mumbo ran a hand over his scraggly jaw. “Yeah, probably.” Iskall handed him a razor out of nowhere and Mumbo laughed. “Jeez, you guys really came prepared! Is there a special occasion today or something?”

Grian shrugged. “I mean, if I wore the same thing every day without ever being able to change I’d probably get sick of it too.” He looked pointedly down at his red sweater that Mumbo hadn’t seen him without for ages, even though Grian was notorious for his rapid and frequent wardrobe changes.

Iskall snorted, wonder of wonders. _I’ve offered to help you change, man, I don’t know what else you want me to do._

Grian made a face. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I haven’t changed my clothes in a week.”

They all laughed and Mumbo felt like he was so close to wholeness he could touch it.

* * *

_Dear Pablo Punchwood(and Wilson)_

_Thank you._

_Your friend,_

_Mumbo Jumbo_


	23. Chapter 23

Grian bounced into the room, startling Mumbo so badly that the sentence he was writing in his journal ended with a long accidental ink scrawl.

“Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo!” he yelled, nearly leaping into Mumbo’s lap. Mumbo quickly tucked his journal into his pocket, making worried eye contact with a harried-looking Iskall. “It’s finished! It’s finally finished!” Grian chanted. “Can I tell him, Iskall? Can I can I can I?”

Iskall’d barely nodded before Grian screeched in Mumbo’s ear. “We made you a house!!!”

Mumbo blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “You―what?”

Iskall showed him the page he’d been scribbling while Grian was nearly exploding with excitement.

_ A bunch of us got together and used a ton of resources to make you a safehouse, basically. It’s like your box but bigger and with some more home comforts. Grian hasn’t shut up about it since he came up with the idea. It would have been a shorter project but Grian argued with us about everything every step of the way lol _

“Why do you take so long to read?” Grian whined. “Come on, let’s go!” He bounced on Mumbo’s bed, grinning from ear to ear, attempting to nudge Mumbo forwards with his shoulder.

“No, wait―!” Mumbo protested, looking to Iskall for help, but he just shrugged helplessly. He allowed himself to be pushed out the door, pausing only to grab his jacket. 

Grian danced around excitedly while Mumbo fastened an elytra on. 

“Before we go,” Mumbo started, ignoring Grian’s pleading glance. “I just…thank you guys for everything you’ve done for me.”

Grian shrugged, hopping from foot to foot. “It’s fine, you’re welcome, lets go!”

Iskall grabbed Grian by the arm and motioned for him to chill. He pulled his book out of his pocket and began to scribble, smacking at Grian when he started groaning in protest.

_ It was the right thing to do, and this island needs all the goofy hermits it can get. And what would we do without our moustache representation? _

Mumbo laughed. “I can’t even begin to make up for everything you’ve gone through for me. I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused and I know you’ve…forgive me for, um, everything, but I still--”

Iskall shoved his book in Mumbo’s face.  _ It’s because we’re friends, you SPOON!! _ He cleared his throat, steeling his features. Mumbo was a bit confused but waited.

Iskall cleared his throat again and opened his mouth. “You…re…wel…come.” His voice was gravelly and weak but it was definitely Iskall’s. Even Grian froze, shocked, before cheering. Mumbo grabbed Iskall into a hug, nearly in tears.

Iskall was laughing and Mumbo could hear it. Could actually hear it. He was overjoyed.

But Grian had grown impatient and groaned in frustration again, stamping his foot. “Yes, yes, we all love Mumbo, but can we PLEASE go to his new house now?”

Mumbo pulled away from Iskall and adjusted his elytra straps. Iskall sighed and wrapped his arms around Grian’s waist and they all exited through the chimney. Grian whooped and hollered and Mumbo was sure Iskall would drop him, but they’d obviously had practice.

The house wasn’t far away and Mumbo completely forgot about everything else once he saw it. It was a huge structure with wooden walls nestled in a cliff and surrounded by a high cobweb fence. It didn’t look much like a prison even though Mumbo knew it technically was, but the homey facade made him feel a little bit better about it. They flew carefully over the fence, Grian screaming at Iskall to pull up so that he didn’t hit it. Iskall was laughing and Mumbo could actually hear it. It was still weak and very squeaky, but it was a joy to hear Iskall’s laugh again.

They landed on a beautiful little lawn with a path lined with stones leading up to the door. A small flower garden bloomed near the door and Mumbo’s eyes blurred with tears. “You guys did this...for me?”

Iskall nodded and Grian smiled. “I think the others are inside if you want to go see them,” he said, leading the way up the path.

_ Others? _ Mumbo wondered, but followed. The door mechanism was simple but ensured it could be locked from the outside. He knew how it worked and knew how it could be improved with a few pistons. He didn’t even have to push away the sun’s call towards its other uses.

Scar, Cleo, Stress, False, and all the other hermits on the island were wrapping up the finishing touches on the main room. “Iskall!” Stress yelled, looking at Mumbo, who immediately shrunk under her gaze. “I thought you weren’t going to go get him before we were done!”

Iskall gave her an exasperated glance, jabbing a thumb at a very sheepish Grian. “I was excited!” Grian protested. “And now you get to give Mumbo a tour!”

Iskall put his face in his hands, letting out a small groan before scribbling a quick  _ sorry _ to Stress.

“Alright, alright,” Stress said, looking around at the other hermits. “We’re close enough as it is.” The others hurriedly place the last few blocks while Mumbo looked around awkwardly.

The inside looked a lot smaller than the outside, so Mumbo assumed there were at least a few layers of obsidian between the wooden walls. The entrance room had two doorways to other rooms and a staircase up to a second level.

“Where should we start?” False asked. “We’ve got a library, a kitchen, a sitting room, and a couple bedrooms.” 

Mumbo shrugged, a bit overwhelmed, and Grian started nudging him towards the left-hand door. “Library first!” he crowed. Mumbo allowed himself to be pushed into the next room.

The ceiling was fairly high and filled floor to ceiling with bookshelves. There was a little alcove on one side with a tall window and a little place for sitting. Endrods glowed softly from a fixture in the ceiling and a few paintings dotted some of the empty wall space.

“Do you like it?” Grian asked anxiously. Mumbo couldn’t speak. He was in awe. After so long in his tiny little black box, this was the lap of luxury.

“Oh my word. I love it,” he breathed. He didn’t want to leave the room, certain that this had to be the best part of the house, but Grian hadn’t come off his adrenaline high yet and was already nudging him energetically out and towards the next room.

The hermits followed him slowly from room to room. The kitchen was small but industrial and suited Mumbo perfectly. There were a few chickens and a small balcony with a few rows of wheat. The sitting room was quaint and had lots of windows. Grian rapidly whispered possible decoration improvements to Mumbo, who barely heard him.

“Upstairs next!” Cleo called, leading the group up the beautiful staircase. Mumbo admired the details on the railing and the small lamps.

Iskall poked him and pointed to a lever on the staircase.  _ Small redstone vanishing staircase to back courtyard, _ he wrote. At Mumbo’s frightened look he added  _ Not enough to hurt anyone and it’d be good to start you on the right track back to your base. _ Mumbo nodded, exhaling. He was surprised that the red sun hadn’t alerted him to the presence of redstone right below his feet, but it had been thankfully very quiet lately. He’d take a look at the staircase later, already having to resist the beginnings of the sun’s pull. Thankfully, he was able to push it away fairly easily.

They next led him into a large, open room that had a double bed setup and a canopy. A large window covered half the wall and there was a small closet on the other side. “It’s much nicer than your old one, at least,” Grian quipped. Mumbo had his hands over his mouth, nearly in tears all over again.

He suddenly spotted an item frame hanging over the bed. “Is that…?”

Grian nodded. “We found it in your base after you left and didn’t want you to lose it. You’re gonna need it in case a creeper spawns in the gate.”

Mumbo gently pulled his trident down from the frame, for it was indeed his old trident, running his fingers over the words engraved in the greenish metal.  _ The Fork of Friendship. _

“There’s also another bedroom on the other side that’s a bit smaller,” False said as Mumbo gently returned the trident back to its frame. “We thought you might want to have a guest room.”

Mumbo nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice to not crack like an eggshell. 

“I made a little garden out in the back, too,” Scar piped up. “I wanted to feel helpful.”

A half-laugh half-sob burst from Mumbo’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbling. “Thank you, everyone, so so much. It’s more than I―” He had almost said “It’s more than I deserve,” but he thought about what Pablo said, all those ages ago, about forgiving himself. “It’s more than I could ever wish for,” he finished, voice cracking.

“Aw, it was nuffin’,” Stress said, modest as ever. Iskall wrapped Mumbo in a huge hug and all the hermits followed suit. Grian stood by the side, holding himself awkwardly, but Stress pulled him into the group. Mumbo stood, weeping, surrounded by friends in a new house where he’d be able to reacclimate to redstone again, and the vestiges of the red sun’s influence released his mind. He still had a long journey ahead of him, but surrounded and supported by those he loved he felt strong enough to continue. 

He was safe. He was free.


	24. Epilogue the First: A Quiet Dawn

              Mumbo hadn’t planned on going back to the box. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going, which wasn’t the best of ideas, but it had been weeks since his last setback. He was grateful every day for his freedom, for the ability to wake up alone and see the sky above him, to move about as he wished, to work on whatever project he desired or just sit around and do nothing. There were reminders, of course. A circuit would pull up memories of a machine. Lava would hiss and screams would echo in his head. The touch of redstone could be blazing hot.

The nightmares at least had quieted down considerably. The constant pull of red light in his mind was mostly memory. He had free reign of the island with few limitations and didn’t have to have guards with him wherever he went. Grian and Iskall still thought it was a good idea for him to tell people where he was going if he wouldn’t be around, but it was more of a suggestion. They trusted him, and he was grateful for it.

Mumbo hadn’t meant to go to the box. Flying had become one of the few ways he could clear his head these days so he did it often, even just circles around his base. But today, today was different.

He hadn’t even noticed where he was going until the black box peeked its sharp silhouette over the horizon. The sight of it brought back such a flood of memories that he gasped, nearly losing his rhythm as he flew, but he managed to right himself and make it the rest of the way to the box.

The roof was as smooth as the day it was built, save for the hopper that mail went into and the chute that was the only entrance and exit to the box.

Mumbo didn’t enter the box. He knew what it would look like, how it would smell, where every strand of wool touched another in the carpet, every impurity in the obsidian. He had no need to see it again. Instead he gently took off his elytra and placing it on the black stone next to him before lying down on his back, staring at the sky.

It was late evening and the air was still. The only sound was Mumbo’s heartbeat in his chest and the hiss of his breath. Though he had spent so much time alone in the box, this sort of peacefulness was blissful to him.

The sky darkened slowly, and he watched it progress from blue to orange to purple to black. Pinpricks of stars had just begun to appear when a rush of noise scared him upright.

“Sorry,” Grian said, for it was Grian who had just landed next to him on the roof of the box. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” Mumbo said, grinning, patting the stone next to him. “Care to join me?”

Grian wiggled his elytra and rocket sling off, laying down next to Mumbo on the stone with a sigh. “It’s so quiet up here,’ he said softly, and Mumbo nodded. The two sat in silence for a few minutes watching the stars, before another harsh noise caused both of them to sit up. It was Iskall. He waved at the pair of them, not surprised that either of them were there. He shrugged off his elytra and laid between them without any signs or writing in his book.

The three of them lay on top of the cold, dark stone, staring up at the quiet night. Their hearts beat in tandem, and more words passed between them in the silence than could ever be written. They breathed in unison, hardly moving a muscle as the world moved around them.

It could have been a few minutes, or an eternity, but the sun finally started to shine over the horizon. Mumbo sat up first and stretched, reaching for his elytra, but Iskall pulled him back. “Here,” he whispered, voice quiet and gravelly, and handed Mumbo a diamond pick.

Mumbo looked at the pickaxe, confused for a moment, before understanding dawned. “Now? But—but what if—”

Iskall shook his head, not allowing Mumbo to finish. “Now,” he said quietly, and Grian nodded his agreement.

“If I could help I would,” Grian said softly, and Mumbo was grateful that neither of them had truly shattered the silence of the night yet.

Iskall nodded to the box and pulled out his own pick, waiting.

Mumbo stared down at the dark stone. This box had been his home for so many months, but it had also been his prison.

He took a deep breath and began chipping away at the obsidian. Iskall joined him wordlessly, and Grian kicked pieces over the edge as they broke.

The first few layers were easy enough. Mumbo and Iskall fell into a rhythm, dodging Grian and strategically taking out each black block of stone. That was before they reached the room.

Iskall broke through the ceiling first, jumping down into the room and helping Grian down after him. Mumbo stared through the small hole at the white carpet, the bed, the chest, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Red light crept into his mind, terrible and familiar, and he froze up.

Grian moved directly beneath the hole, staring worriedly up at him. “It’s okay, Mumbo,” he called. “Take your time. You’re free now. You can leave if you come in.”

Mumbo looked up to the brightening sky, trying to calm his racing heart. Slowly, he took in a shuddering breath and looked back down into the room. Closing his eyes, he lowered himself down through the hole, nearly jumping out of his skin as Iskall’s arms encircled his waist to support him. He gasped as his feet touched the floor, heart leaping to his throat, but already the panic was fading. Iskall had already been tearing up a lot of the carpet and taken the iron door down, along with some of the surrounding obsidian. Just that fact already made him feel more comfortable.

He moved to the wall that had the window, beginning to break down the obsidian around it. Grian lay stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and the pose was so familiar it almost gave Mumbo pause, but he kept working. Iskall was taking out the ceiling and fresh morning light flooded in to the box.

_ What I would have given for that… _ Mumbo thought, remembering the times not knowing if it was night or day and missing the feeling of wind and real sunlight on his skin. A breeze tickled his hair and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Iskall had already started on the doorway.

Mumbo continued at his task, and he found that he could feel almost happy with what he was doing. How often had he wished to do this very thing? To break down these walls and free himself? Of course, it had been thought in different contexts, but it had all turned out alright.

“How did you survive for so long like this, Mumbo?” Grian asked suddenly. “There’s nothing to do in here. It’s silent and you were trying to get away from something in your own head. How did you do it?”

Mumbo smiled softly. “I had Iskall. And you.” _And Pablo._

Grian sat up, bracing himself against the remaining wall. “You’ve come so far, you know that?” he said, grinning, and Mumbo laughed.

“I sure hope so,” he said.

Iskall finally took down the whole corridor, returning to what remained of the room. He motioned for Grian to get up and broke the bed beneath him, scooping it up. Mumbo hurriedly started on the floor, unsure of how many blocks deep it was. With both him and Iskall working together, both now wearing their elytra, they made it through to the last layer. Grian jumped off and glided around, circling them. Last row. Mumbo’s lungs were filled with sky. Last block.

Iskall leapt off then, motioning for Mumbo to break the last chunk of obsidian. The final remnant of the box. Mumbo checked that his elytra was on and that he could readily access rockets.

Mumbo broke the block, the dark shards falling to earth, and the wind lifted him, and he was laughing and so were Grian and Iskall, Mumbo was weightless, he was flying, he was safe, he was truly free.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue I wrote a while back and posted on the Tumblr @redstone-sun and decided to put here. I haven't really edited it so sorry for that but yeah!


	25. Epilogue the Second: Untitled

              It had been half a year since Mumbo had been rescued from the world of the red sun. He was in the process of moving back to his base and reacclimating to redstone. So far he was helping others with their redstone projects during the day, watched over by Iskall and Grian, and at night he returned to his house.

It had been a hard day. Mumbo had been helping Doc with the piston bolt through the Nether, and the amount of pistons involved had made Mumbo’s head spin and the clanking sound they had made still echoed in his mind.

He collapsed into his bed, not even bothering to wash the redstone off of his hands. He fell asleep almost immediately.

_The red sun never sets, Mumbo…_

__

Mumbo awoke with a start, shooting upright. No. _No._ It couldn’t be.

The machine still stood

The quartz plain stretched out around him.

The heat pressed against him.

The red sun burned above him.

The red sun never sets. _The red sun never sets._

He clasped his hands to his head and screamed, screamed in frustration and rage and pain and desperation.  _ Not again. Please. Please, no. _

His hands twitched and he took a shaky step towards the machine. Tears flowed down his face and his hands jerked as he tried to resist the pull, the drive, the  _ need, _ but he could already feel himself slipping away again.

Immediately the energy flowed back into his body. Redstone and components flew out of his pockets and he began to build a simple circuit connected to the machine. He could still see bloodstains where Iskall’s body had lain. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue until he could taste blood, whole body shaking.

He couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t be able to keep control for much longer. Already he was working faster on the circuits, hands moving without him thinking about it. He couldn’t hold on much longer, and he was sure that when-- _ if _ they came to get him he’d be so much worse than before.

_ I’m sorry, Grian,  _ he thought.  _ I’m sorry Iskall. _

_ I’m sorry, Pablo. _

_ It’s just… _

_ The red sun. The red sun never sets. _

The sensations were so familiar. The heat on his back. The redstone burning his hands.

_ No,  _ he thought suddenly, forcefully _. No. I’m not doing this again. _

His body shuddered to a stop, his hand frozen in the middle of placing a comparator. He stood, breathing heavily for a few seconds, before slumping onto the ground. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his heartbeat _. I am ok. Breathe. I am ok. _

He sat there and the unnatural energy drained from his limbs, leaving him completely exhausted. He stared up at the sun, struggling to take each breath.

_ Breathe. I am ok. _

He pushed himself up using an iron block, legs trembling at the effort.

_ It has no power over me. _

He tapped the first block and it disappeared, redstone dust falling to the ground. He exhaled. 

_ Breathe. _

He broke another and another _. _

_ I am ok. _

Fueled by himself, by the falling dust, he began to move through the machine, breaking, destroying, freeing.

There was the trap that had killed Iskall. It would never crush again. There was the trap that had killed Grian. It would never burn again.

He clenched his jaw. This place had hurt him, had hurt his friends. He flailed out with his hands, destroying, destroying, screaming—

And then…

It was all gone.

Mumbo stood on the quartz plane, surrounded by traces of redstone dust.

He’d been right. It had no power over him.

He breathed.

He was ok.

He made his way back to the place he had woken up, a nondescript stretch of quartz.

He laid down.

And he was home.

He opened his eyes to the familiar wood ceiling of his new house and couldn’t help but smile.

Even if the sun still shone, he knew its light could never reach him here again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this as a bad ending originally as a punishment for the Discord server's uwu crimes(long story), but I couldn't leave it there. The thing about this story is that it's a healing story and no matter how dark it gets there's always hope, no matter what you've done and no matter what you feel there is hope for light in your future, and you have the power to bring it into existence. This particular epilogue was really important to me because of how symbolic it is of reencountering an experience that previously traumatized or hurt you severely and dealing with it through your own strength and ability because you've made it to that point in your healing. I also didn't edit this one a lot so sorry if it's a little slow. Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Made by Elaina R.-Schill, inspired by @paulsoaresjr Man vs Minecraft series on YouTube, as well as @biffaplays and @pixelated-mysteries on Tumblr, who were in turn inspired by the YouTube Minecraft series Hermitcraft season 6(especially Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, and Iskall85) and house_owner’s Minecraft-based redstoner series also on YouTube! I have never seen the redstoner series and it shows if you know it. Thank you so, so much to everyone who leaves kudos or comments, especially any with constructive criticism!


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